


Sugar

by ShadPhenix



Series: CoachSugar [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Coach Negan (Walking Dead), F/M, Fall setting, Friends to Lovers, Humor, POV Second Person, Playboy Negan, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadPhenix/pseuds/ShadPhenix
Summary: You teach Home Ec at the high school where Negan teaches P.E. Ordinarily, you wouldn't have much reason to interact, but Negan has a unique way of sealing the deal with his weekly conquests. On Mondays, he texts you his order for a baked good worthy of his Woman of the Week. On Thursdays, he picks the order up, and presumably on Fridays and Saturdays, he reaps the benefits. Rinse and repeat. Your side hustle as a smalltime baker is going pretty well for you until things get complicated.
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead)/Original Female Character(s), Negan (Walking Dead)/You
Series: CoachSugar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025769
Comments: 187
Kudos: 173





	1. Chapter 1

"Jesus."

The moment you heard the word, purred long and low, you froze. You had been on your knees, under your ancient desk, searching for the back of your earring when the intruder interrupted. Your fingertips had just grazed the wingback when you flinched in surprise, flicking the back farther out of reach.

"Now  _ that's _ how you give a man a warm welcome."

You mentally cursed. It was just your luck that out of over a hundred and fifty faculty and staff members, the one person to find you with your ass up in the air had to be Negan, one of the phys ed teachers. Of the three coaches, he was the most notorious: to students because he was a hardass, to adults because he'd managed to sleep his way through half of the female teachers and staff.

It took you an extra second to remember it was laundry day, and you were wearing your thinnest, comfiest pair of leggings. As soon as you did, you scrambled to your feet. Unfortunately, you didn't gauge the area well enough, and you ended up slamming your head hard into the underside of the old metal desk, its ledge biting into your tender skin.

You winced and slowly sat back on your knees.

"Shit, Sugar. I didn't mean to sneak up on you." Your eyes were closed, but you heard him step farther into your classroom. "That had to hurt like a bitch. You okay?"

You cracked your eyes open and looked up at him. He wore black track pants with a grey shirt and had the grace to look sheepish. He reached a hand down to you. Despite the fact that you could easily get off of the floor, you let him help you up and into your rusty desk chair, another relic from the Cold War.

"Here, let me see," he said, once you were situated. The chair squealed loudly when you tilted forward to allow him to look at the crown of your head. With feather light touches that surprised you considering his usually gruff exterior, he moved your hair around, gently prodding at the tender skin of your scalp.

"Yep," he said, "going to have a real badass goose egg later.” 

It was about that moment, as you were looking at his sneakers, that you realized you were letting Negan, of all people, examine you for injuries. You lifted your head slowly and sat back, looking up at him.

His hands dropped away. "Got ice in here?"

"One of the perks of teaching nutrition." You stood and your vision swam. Immediately, you reached back behind you to steady yourself with the arms of the chair. How hard had you hit your head?

"Sit," he put a hand on your upper arm and squeezed gently until you complied. "I got it."

The Nutrition and Home Studies Lab, still called Home Ec by everyone despite the district-mandated rebranding, had served as one of the science labs decades ago. Metal nozzles made to hook up to Bunsen burners still decorated the workstations, though they were no longer connected to the gas. Electric stovetop ovens had been installed at various points along the perimeter of the room. And the refrigerator, which had seen at least two decades of use, sat in the back corner, groaning so loud it could easily be mistaken for an idling car engine.

Negan didn't take long to gather a few brown paper towels and wrap them around a handful of ice from the freezer. A few strides later, he returned with the makeshift ice pack. He reached like he was going to set it on your head, but you took it from his hand and applied it yourself.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged and leaned back against your desk, watching you with his unnerving gaze. "Can't have the best baker in the state down for the count."

You rolled your eyes. "How many bakers do you know?"

“Enough.”

Since school had started up a couple of months ago, Negan had made it a habit to order baked goods and other sweets for his various conquests. This had originally started during the annual bake sale for the library the first week of school, but once he found out you were an amateur baker and that "gals just can't say 'no' when a man's holding their favorite treat”--his words, obviously--it had become a regular thing. On Mondays, he texted a new order. On Thursdays, he picked it up, and presumably on Fridays and Saturdays, he reaped the benefits before choosing a new victim...err, woman of the week.

He had a handful of "work wives," some of whom were of the normal platonic variety and others who were obviously fuck buddies, who he also ordered confections for at times. 

You weren't a huge fan of Negan or his methods of lovin’ 'em and leavin’ ‘em, but the money was good. You'd already managed to buy a food processor for your classroom and had replaced all the scary, rusted knives that were one slice away from giving one of your kids tetanus. You were hoping that by the early part of spring term, you'd be able to afford a newer used fridge with doors that actually sealed all the way.

Everyone knew Negan's backstory. He'd already been teaching at the high school for years when his wife Lucille was diagnosed with and eventually succumbed to cancer. The rumor mill also said that Negan had been unfaithful to his dying wife, but you didn't know that for sure. What you did know was that he was in no short supply of women hoping to catch his eye and heal his heart. Of course, none of them succeeded, and usually, they ended up broken-hearted, more than one asking to store ice cream in your freezer on occasion. When they came, you would listen patiently to their stories, make a batch of frosted sugar cookies in the shape of their favorite animal, so long as you had the corresponding cookie cutter, and then send them on their way. You were glad you had been warned about him early enough to avoid falling into the same trap. 

You'd already gotten the "I'm the one he'll change his ways for" mindset out of your system in college. Chad had been a blonde haired, blue eyed, ripped swimmer. He'd pursued you for two weeks, and you'd lapped up every lie that had fallen from his lips like honey. You were sure he was The One. And then he left you in bed with a mashed up heart and an ache between your legs, not even making sure you finished before he took off.

But you were a smart girl. It had only taken one Chad for you to learn your lesson. 

"Better?" Negan asked after you'd held the ice on for a couple of minutes.

You nodded. The sharp pain and pulsating sensation had receded to a dull ache. 

"Good. Got my order?”

“You know I do. Half a dozen chocolate peanut butter cupcakes. They're on the counter.” You waved vaguely toward one of the workstations. 

He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a twenty. Most people only paid a couple of bucks per cupcake, but Negan qualified for the asshole surcharge.

“You could just send it in the app, you know.”

“I could, but it just wouldn't feel right.” He smacked the bill onto the top of your desk. “Leaving money on the table makes our transactions just a little,” he waited until you made eye contact, “dirtier.”

You held back from reacting, knowing that was all he wanted.

He waited a beat, but seeing that you weren't going to give in, he finally headed over to the counter to collect his order. You’d put them in a cute box with a ribbon. He opened the top and peeked. “These look fan-fucking-tastic. Sherry is going to be eating this shit straight out of my hand. And then I'm going to eat her--"

“Nurse Sherry or Child Development Sherry?” Your question caught him off guard, stopping what surely would've been a detailed account of all the places Negan planned to put his mouth. 

“Child Development Sherry. The fuck does it matter?” Cupcakes in hand, he started for the door.

You did roll your eyes again this time. “She's allergic to peanuts, Einstein.” 

He stopped in his tracks and twisted his whole upper body to look at you. “You shittin’ me?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He came back over and set the cupcakes on your desk. "What," he tapped the top of the box, "are we," another tap, "going to do," tap, "about this?"

You shrugged. “I fulfilled the order, like always, to a tee. You're the one who failed to make sure it wasn't something that could potentially kill your date.”

“Really, Sugar? Playing the blame game? That's so,” he seemed to search for the word, “beneath you.”

You huffed. “Negan, believe it or not, I have things to do this afternoon.” Those things consisted of picking up cat food and finding a good read for your evening, but he didn't need to know that.

“Alright, I'm taking her to the home game tomorrow night. What can you make before then that  _ won't  _ kill her?”

You thought it over for a moment. Refusing was easy enough. He couldn't force you to do it, but you did have a recipe you were wanting to experiment with, and a little extra cash would go a long way toward that new fridge. "Sherry would probably like something tangy. I could do a few mango curd tartlets."

“Probably like or definitely like?”

You snapped your eyes to his. “They won't kill her, and it's more thoughtful than a simple cupcake.”

He ignored the dig at his usual choice of baked goods. “How much?” 

You looked him up and down for a minute, wondering how much you could take him for. You already had the ingredients at home, so it'd be all profit. “Sixty,” you said, figuring there was no way he'd go for it.

“Sixty? That's outrageous.” 

“It's a rush order and a more complex recipe. But if it's too much, you could always go with  _ store bought. _ ” 

He looked at you as though you were the one with the trash mouth. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I know what my talents are worth.” 

He opened the box of cupcakes. Even though he'd simply asked for chocolate peanut butter, you'd made a fudgy chocolate cupcake with peanut butter ganache filling, Swiss meringue peanut butter frosting, and chocolate drizzle. He set the top aside, selected a cupcake, and took a less than dainty bite. After a moment of chewing, his eyes rolled back in his head and he rocked backward. "Mmmm, mmmm, mmm,” he made happy eating sounds. “Is this what a mouth orgasm feels like? No wonder you gals go ga-ga for chocolate." He finished the cake in one more bite, slowing his chewing as though savoring it.

You watched his outrageous display, unable to deny the pleasure you took in the fact that he enjoyed your food.

“Why aren't you doing this professionally?” 

“I am doing it professionally,” you returned, indicating your classroom. 

“This is small potatoes. You should have a bakery.”

“Running a small business is expensive, and I've got student loans to pay.”

“Well shit, that's the way it goes, ain't it? Guess it works out for me.” He licked frosting from his fingers, lips making an obscene popping sound as he sucked the last bit of chocolate and peanut butter from his thumb. “When's your free period tomorrow?” 

“Second.”

“I'll send one of the little dipshits over for the tarts.”

You didn't bother correcting him that it would be tartlets rather than tarts, doubting the difference mattered. 

He grabbed his wallet again, counted out more money, and added it to the other bill on the desktop. Then he reached over and fiddled with the pens in your cup before withdrawing a pencil. He ripped off the eraser, tossed the pencil back in the cup, and then turned back to you and leaned down.

You were still holding the ice pack in place with one hand and had rested your other arm on the chair. He moved so fast that you weren't prepared for him to smooth your hair behind your ear before carefully taking your earlobe between his thumb and forefinger with one hand and reaching with the other to fasten your earring in place using the eraser.

“Looks expensive,” he said by way of explanation as he pulled back. “Probably don't want to lose it.” He winked. “See? I can be thoughtful.” 

You swallowed, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Then he closed up his box of cupcakes and headed for the door. “By the way,” he tossed over his shoulder, “the polka dots were a good choice. Cute.”

Polka dots? You weren't wearing any… 

You realized that you'd pulled on your white underwear with the black polka dots that morning. They must have shown through the worn back of your tights. A hot blush broke out over your skin. You looked back up to see he'd turned to the side and was giving you a shit-eating grin.

“See you later.”

What an asshole.


	2. Chapter 2

“I have it on good authority,” your friend Krys said during morning hall duty the next day, “that Principal Johnson's assistant Lexi and Lunch Room Becky had a knock-down-drag-out in the lounge this morning.” Krys had shaved their head and wore more eye makeup and highlighter than most of the teen girls at school. They taught cosmetology in the room next door, another converted lab.

You gave them a look that said you weren't buying it. 

"Honest to God. Both sent home for the day. Mildred saw the whole thing go down, and you know she don't lie." Mildred was the geriatric school librarian. She thrived on gossip but wouldn't utter a word she didn't know to be true.

"Why were they fighting?"

“Negan.”

“Negan? As in Coach Negan?”

“Girl,” they put their hands on their hips. “How many Negans do you know?

“It's just hard to imagine why they'd be fighting over him.” The women who went out with him knew what was what. People could say what they wanted about Negan, but he was straightforward and had made it clear to the whole community that he wasn’t planning to settle down again anytime soon. He never bothered to hide his nature. “How did the fight start?”

“That's the best part. Mildred said when she got in, there was a box of cupcakes on the table by the door with a note that said ‘for my best girl,’ and it was signed ‘Negan.’ Hey,” they snapped at a passing kid, “no running!”

You shook your head in disbelief. Why would he do something that would obviously cause trouble? “So they found it and started fighting over who his best girl was?”

“Well Keisha found them first. And you know she had a couple of flings with Negan last year.” 

You didn't really know that since you’d been at a different school in the district previously but nodded anyway. Then you eyed a couple of kids making out a few lockers down and said in your Teacher Voice™, "Alright, guys, move it along. You know the rules on PDA." Reluctantly, the teens parted, rolled their eyes at you, and then moped off, presumably toward their first class. But if they found a dark alcove to continue their make-out session, you didn't really care, so long as they weren't in your section of the hallway.

“So Keisha claimed the box for herself, made a big show about how Negan had remembered her favorite flavor and all that jazz." 

Ha. He couldn't even keep up with his women enough to know who was allergic to what. She was setting her expectations way too high. “If Keisha got them, how did the other two end up fighting?”

“Keisha wanted everyone to know what Negan had done for her, so she kept the note and started proclaiming their reconciliation to anyone who walked into the lounge.”

You were pretty sure people actually had to be in a relationship in order to have something to reconcile. 

Krys went on, “And eventually, Lexi and Becky showed up, took the note, and fought for the cupcakes. They ended up smashing them all over each other and rolling around on the floor. Mildred said frosting was everywhere.” 

You thought about your beautiful, delicious cupcakes, now apparently decorating the teacher’s lounge. Damn Negan and his games. “So how come Keisha didn’t get sent home?”

Krys laughed. “Mildred said she hustled up out of there as soon as the frosting started flying.”

“And Mildred just sat there watching the whole time?”

They shrugged. “You know the old people love them some drama.” Krys said as though the two of you weren't eating it up. The late bell rang, and you both headed into your classrooms to start the day.

Your first period group was your favorite. They all liked to interact and get work done. Thursdays and Fridays were the days when they cooked, and today, they made cinnamon rolls, which made your room smell incredible. At least it had until one of the groups realized too late that they’d misread the cook temperature and set the oven a hundred degrees higher than necessary. This resulted in a pan of rolls that were charred on the outside and nearly raw on the inside. The smell of burnt cinnamon and smoke now permeated the room. You were fortunate that one of your windows opened enough to let some of the stench out.

You had Negan’s tartlets waiting on a desk by the door as soon as second period started. You were expecting him to send one of the students (or “dipshits” as he preferred) to pick them up but were surprised to see the man himself standing in your doorway fifteen minutes into the period.

“You should consider putting a fan in here. This place reeks.” Tactful, as always. The stove top hoods were running to clear out the smell, but they weren’t doing much.

“Good morning, Negan,” you said. "Don't you have class now?"

He shrugged. It was Blue Jean Friday, and he was wearing a fitted black shirt with his. "They're running laps."

"Shouldn't you be there to, you know, supervise?"

He waved off your concern. "The other coaches are around. They’ll hear ‘em screaming if someone gets hurt bad enough.” It was hard to tell whether or not he was joking.

"And if a couple kids sneak off to have sex?" It happened at the school more often than anyone wanted to admit.

"Probably won't get pregnant." 

You practiced your deep-breathing, wondering how it was that he managed to halfass his job and still be one of the most beloved teachers in the school. "Well don't let me keep you. Your tartlets are over there." You indicated them and then looked back down at the phone in your hand. You were currently using your planning time to scroll through Instagram and look for inspiration for the fall festival. A tutorial video on Rice Krispy Treat haystacks started playing. Those might be alright. Quick and easy, and the students could throw them together in one day.

Negan came around to your side of the desk. He put his hand on the back of your chair and leaned over you to watch the video. "You really eat, sleep, and breathe this shit, huh?" he said once the loop started repeating.

You turned off your screen and put the phone facedown on your desk. Apparently personal space was not a concept he had learned. "It's a passion." You turned your head a bit to face him.

He smiled when your eyes met his, face only a few inches from yours. “How’s the head?”

“Better.”

"Good. You coming to the game tonight?"

"Definitely not."

"How come?

"Football's not really my thing."

"What’s that got to do with anything? When you're in the stands at a high school ball game, you ain’t there for yourself. You're there for the kids. Good for morale when they see their favorite teachers cheering them on."

"I don't think I have many players in my classes."

"Fair enough. What about cheerleaders, band members, whatever the fuck those flag tossers call themselves?"

He had you there. You did teach several members of the color guard as well as some band kids and a few cheerleaders, all of whom played a role in Friday night games. Maybe you  _ should _ consider going to a game sometime. It did seem to be a community bonding event, and you hadn’t lived on this side of town for long.

“Something to think about.” He pulled back and straightened up. "So, big weekend plans? Art gallery? Poetry reading? Foreign film?"

Was that the kind of stuff he thought you were into? "Not really. Next week's going to be super busy with the fall festival. I'm just going to have a chill weekend. Probably do some things around the house." Like read some smut. Pet your cat. Try a new recipe. 

"Boy do you lead an exciting life."

"And do you have any plans outside of getting Sherry in the sack?"

He grinned. "Getting her in the sack is just the beginning of what I have planned."

You had to put up a hard fight to refrain from rolling your eyes, but you won. He didn't need anymore encouragement. The subject reminded you of your conversation with Krys. "Did you really use a box of my cupcakes to instigate a fight between three women?"

"My cupcakes. I paid, remember? And it worked out pretty well in the end."

"Worked out? They were sent home for the day."

"So now they got a day off, and I got dates for every Friday up to Thanksgiving."

"I thought there were only two or three involved."

"Only a couple physically involved. Why do you think I made sure Ms. Mildred would be around to spread the word? I’ve had gals texting all morning, saying how sorry they are that the cupcakes got busted up before they could get them."

Ugh, he was such a jerk.

“Don’t look so put out. That means steady business for you. It’s a win-win.”

You hated to admit that he was making a reasonable point, though you weren’t so sure how the other women would feel about his manipulation.

“Let me know if you want to catch that game sometime.” He grabbed his box and headed for the door. "Thanks for the tarts."

"Tartlets," you said to the empty room.


	3. Chapter 3

“I need a cooler,” you said. “Maybe two. And ice.”

“Well good morning to you too, Sugar.” You had found Negan on the track, jogging with a group of mostly lanky boys. When he saw you, he fell out of step with the group and yelled something about seeing some hustle before he jogged your way. He was in navy shorts and a white shirt, both of which had the high school athletic department logo emblazoned on them. A silver whistle dangled from his neck. 

Your hands were on your hips. It was not a good morning. It was one of  _ those _ Mondays, the kind that made you feel the whole week was already shot.

Ten minutes before, you had walked into your classroom to find a huge puddle of brown water beneath the refrigerator and a sour smell to the room. Knowing the fridge was on its last legs, you always made a point to be sure the kids used the cold supplies by the end of the week. This wouldn't normally be that big of deal. Unfortunately, this week was the fall festival. You'd been put in charge of the food and had planned to spend most of your evenings hanging around late and preparing various items, mostly because you could take advantage of having your students do some of the prep work but also because your home kitchen wasn't particularly large. 

The festival supplies had come with you to school. You had two bags of groceries in your hands and several more bags in your car. You cursed a blue streak, trying to figure out what to do. Sally, the cafeteria manager, hated you. She had made it clear that her area was completely off limits to you. You could go to Principal Johnson and try to make a case for yourself and get him to mediate with Sally, but it would take an hour at least. Meanwhile, the food would start spoiling, and your students would be coming in soon.

The refrigerator in the teacher’s lounge was an option, but it was usually full, and you would have to painstakingly label every single ingredient with your info to decrease the chance of someone helping themselves to the food.

The idea to get a cooler had come next. Not only did the athletic department have several huge coolers, but they also had a brand new ice machine since the district spared no expense in accommodating their every need.

Negan read your body language and asked, “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

You wrinkled your nose at the image and then told him the issue with your fridge.

“And you want me to just drop everything to fix your problem?” 

His question brought you up short. You hadn't expected him to refuse. Your mind started spinning with backup plans. Maybe one of your teaching buddies who hadn’t come in early could swing by the store and grab you a cooler and a couple of bags of ice. You tried to think of who had first period free.

Negan grinned. “I'm just fucking with you. Of course I'm going to help.” 

Your body flooded with relief, and you felt your shoulders relax. “Thank you.”

“But it's going to cost you.”

You should've figured that. “How much?” You thought of the money you had put away to fix the fridge. It wasn't much.

“Not how much, how many. How many weeks of treats are my coolers worth to you?”

The man was ridiculous. For one thing, they weren’t even his coolers. You should’ve looked for one of the other coaches, but he was the only one you knew who did early morning practices. After a minute of consideration, you said, “Two.”

“Just two? I think you look a little more desperate than that.”

“Three weeks,” you said firmly.

“Three weeks,” he repeated slowly. He rocked back, and tapped his scruffy jawline with his fingertips. “But not simple, thoughtless treats like cupcakes. You've been holding out on me. Those tarts opened the door to one  _ explosive  _ weekend with Sherry. I'm going to need three weeks of fancy treats.”

“Fine,” you grated, “three weeks of tartlets.”

“Oh, not just tarts, sweetheart. It's time we test the bounds of your skills and creativity.”

“What do you want?” 

“I learned from last week to leave that up to the expert. I trust your judgment. Just be sure to make me look good.” He reached out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. “So, do we have a deal?”

Three weeks of guessing which baked goods would have his dates shucking their pants the fastest? You had the feeling he was coming out the winner of this negotiation, by far. You thought of the milk, cream, eggs, and other items still sitting in your car and warming up by the minute. The school would only reimburse you for the one purchase, and you couldn't afford to supply most of the food for the festival. He had the upper hand. “We have a deal.” 

His warm hand wrapped around yours, fingertips and thumb lighting over the back of your palm. The touch was gone a second later, and he called to four of the smaller runners. When they came over, he gave them orders to collect two coolers, fill them with ice from the ice machine, and then take them to your classroom.

You thought about thanking him again, but since he was getting more out of this deal than you, decided not to.

“I'm taking Lexi to the festival this week. You can tell me what you're going to make her later this afternoon. I'll stop by and take a look at the fridge.”

You were annoyed at the presumption you would just know what type of dessert Lexi would go crazy for. But you hadn't gotten far enough in dealing with your own disaster-in-the-making to consider repairs for the fridge. Your maintenance requests always ended up on the bottom of the pile, Home Ec being a less than respected art. If Negan was able to fix the fridge, it'd save you a lot of time and hassle. “Great.”

The day flew by in a flurry of activity. Your students helped you plan out the menu, and you charted various tasks and items to complete over the next few days. Only a handful of those who took your class had an actual interest in pursuing culinary arts, but the planning and task managing were good skills for them to learn. And it tremendously decreased your stress.

Long after dismissal for the day, you were breaking it down to an old boyband song and piping orange icing onto plain, pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies. As you hit the second chorus about the game being over, a throat cleared, and you looked up to see Negan. He’d changed into grey jeans and a solid white tee. A heavy toolbelt rode low on his hips. You wondered whether he’d borrowed it from one of the Shop folks or if he carried it in his car for such an occasion.

Rather than being embarrassed that he’d caught you indulging in your guilty pleasure music, you just turned your phone down a bit and let the boys continue to harmonize in the background.

“You got a nice set of pipes on you, Sugar.” He propped his hands on his hips. “So what do you have planned for Lexi?”

Right to business. This didn’t surprise you, and you were already prepared. Lexi drove an expensive car that looked like it was probably outside her salary range and wore designer clothes every day, so you’d picked something that seemed fancy but actually wasn’t. “Mocha caramel macarons.”

“Really? You think coffee’s safe? Some girls hate that.”

“She comes in with a seven-dollar latte every morning. She’ll like them.”

“What about you?”

You raised your eyebrows, not sure what he was asking.

“Big coffee drinker?”

“I can’t afford expensive lattes.” You nodded to the coffee pot on one of the counters. You couldn’t even afford one of those fancy pod coffee makers. 

“You could always coach something.” 

You knew that coaches made a couple thousand extra per sport, but you weren’t exactly the sporty type. “Probably going to stick with the part-time baking.”

“Thought about a husband?”

“You mean marry for money?”

“People do it every day for less.”

You laughed. “I don’t think a man’s going to solve my problems.”

“Might solve a couple of ‘em.” He hitched the toolbelt up and pointed toward the fridge. “You have a chance to empty that thing?”

You nodded. You’d enlisted the help of a few students and managed to toss the perishables. Krys had been able to spare just enough towels to sop up the majority of the melted ice and dirty water.

The song had changed to something by Spice Girls, and as he headed to the fridge, you heard him hum a couple bars of the chorus. After that, the two of you worked in companionable silence save for the music and Negan’s occasional cuss word.

Time passed in a flurry of piping bags, batches of frosting, and bangs and clangs from the area where the fridge sat. You were using green icing to add vines to the pumpkin cookies when he came back over.

“I cleaned up all the coils and flushed the line, but the compressor’s just about shot to shit. You could try to replace it, but that thing’s old as fuck.” He wiped his dirty hands on one of the sodden towels. “Probably going to be hard to find the part.” 

You sighed, having assumed as much. You had put in a request for a new fridge as soon as you’d started working there, but anytime you asked Principal Johnson about it, he always put you off, saying the school just didn’t have the money, which was why you had taken it upon yourself to try to upgrade. Maybe it was time to start a GoFundMe.

“It's working for now. Should be able to get a couple more weeks, maybe even a month out of it.”

That was more than you had this morning.

He put his hands on his hips. “Johnson know about it?”

“Home Ec’s not exactly top priority around here.” You tried to shrug off your obvious annoyance.

“Damn red tape on everything these days.”

True enough, though you were surprised to hear his frustration, considering his department pretty much got whatever they asked for. 

“You about done with those?” he nodded his head toward the rows of cookies that covered your countertops. 

“They just need to dry. The kids will bag them tomorrow.”

“Super. Let’s get out of here and get something to eat.”

You’d been in the zone working for so long that you hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. You were actually pretty hungry. You took a few minutes to clean up your workspace. Negan made himself useful by washing the mixing bowl and utensils that you’d tossed into the sink.

Ollie's, a drive-up diner, sat just a couple of blocks from the school. You’d each taken your own car to meet up since you lived on opposite sides of town. The fall air was just getting that crisp edge to it. You met Negan at the walk-up window and ordered a junior burger, soda, and a taco just to mix things up. Negan went with a double bacon cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, and a chocolate shake. 

You sat at one of the red-coated metal tables with attached bench seats and waved at a couple of students who’d caught your eye. Negan made the rounds to three or four of the tables, which were filled with several of his own students and jocks. He chatted, fist-bumped, and clapped kids on their backs. You were surprised to see how many of the older kids were out on a Monday, but it seemed to be a thing. You didn’t normally get out much during the week.

Negan straddled the bench opposite yours and then threw the other long leg over. 

“Thanks for helping out with the fridge,” you said, only a little begrudgingly. Thanking Negan was akin to thanking one of the fae folk: dangerous. Or at least that was what your supernatural books led you to believe. Of course, there was a lot about Negan that held an edge of danger. Dining with him after school in a very public setting, surrounded by students and their phones, for example. You asked if he was concerned about it.

He threw his head back and laughed. “You worried people will think the two of us are dating?”

Okay, ouch. He didn’t have to say it like that.

“I don’t think there’s a body at that school who doesn’t know how I operate. Don’t worry, your reputation’s safe.”

“My reputation?” you asked.

“Yeah, Suzy home-maker, little Miss Muffin, baker extraordinaire. Guys like me know better than to mess around with gals like you.”

You weren’t sure if this was supposed to be an insult or a compliment. Before you could ask, a diner worker called your order number over the loudspeaker.

He put up a hand when you moved to stand. “I got it.” He nodded to one of the kids sitting a couple of tables over and pointed to the window. The kid jumped up fast and went to grab your food.

“Wow, really?”

“What can I say? Being a coach is like being a celebrity in this town. Might as well indulge in the benefits.” The kid brought a tray of food containing both your orders. Negan rubbed his hands together and dug in.

Your stomach growled at the smell of fresh food, and you followed his lead. The junior burger was still as big as your head. The bun had been toasted and buttered, which was the only flourish. But when you bit into it, the meat was greasy and exploding with flavor, and the toppings tasted fresh. The ketchup had a slight tang, and you wondered if it was made in-house. This was your first time at Ollie’s. Every time you passed the place, which was most days since it was on your commute, you reminded yourself to try the food, but you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

“Good?” Negan asked, mouth half-full.

You nodded and mmhmmed happily. 

Despite the fact he was eating, Negan grinned. He grabbed a couple of fries, swiped them through more of the chilli grease, and ate them. “You gotta try these. They’re the shit.”

You glanced at them, a little doubtful. 

He nudged the styrofoam tray closer, an expectant look on his face.

You took a drink of your soda and then tried one of the fries.

“Well? Good, right?”

“They’re tasty.”

“‘Tasty?’ You saying you’ve had better?”

“It’s just, the flavor’s a little bland, kind of salt on salt. I’d probably use a sharper cheese. The chilli could use some work, too. I would’ve cooked down some onions to go in it, added a few more spices, probably tossed in some crispy bacon at the end to finish it off.”

He swallowed the food in his mouth and then sat back, watching you with an unreadable look.

You took another bite of your burger. When he still hadn’t said anything after a couple of minutes, you asked, “What?”

“You are going to make some undeserving son of a bitch happy as a fucking clam some day, Sugar.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you fuckin' sleeping?” 

You shot out of a dead sleep, pulling your head and upper body from your desk and jerking backward. Your chair squealed. Gasping in a breath of air, you blinked up to find Negan standing in your classroom doorway. Your brain took its sweet time reminding you of important details, like that it was already the night before the festival.

Negan clapped slowly. "That was impressive. Drama Karen ought to enlist you for the next school play."

You rubbed sleep from your eyes. A coolness on your cheek alerted you to a line of drool leaking from the side of your mouth. Classy. You tried to wipe it as casually as possible with the side of your hand.

He clearly noticed but for once skipped the opportunity to tease. “It's almost midnight. What the fuck are you still doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” Your mouth felt dry as cotton. Where had you left your water bottle?

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. He was wearing a navy tracksuit with gold details and a ballcap with the school's initials on it. “Smith's wife went into labor. Asked me to cover the away game for him.”

You nodded. Negan only coached track and baseball. It was actually kind of nice of him to cover for one of the football coaches. You told him as much.

“Yeah, I owed him one. Hooked up with his sister after homecoming last year.” 

Somehow, this didn't surprise you. You raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Hey, I didn't know who she was. I don't exactly ask for a family tree when there's a warm hand down my pants.”

“Would you have stopped if you  _ had  _ known?”

He scratched his chin. “I mean, she was pretty hot, like an eight at least.”

So that was a no. “Do you even remember her name?”

“Sugar,” he said, “you wound me. Of course I remember her name. It was…" he trailed off. “Something-something Smith. Probably something real cute like Cassidy. Or Daniella."

“Negan, have you ever thought about seeing a therapist?”

“What the fuck for?”

You sighed. “None of this explains what you're doing here.”

“Bus just pulled in from the game. Saw your light on when we were circling the building. Figured I ought to check things out.”

It hadn't been too long since a group of kids had broken into the school and vandalized the classrooms of a few of the less adored teachers. It was thoughtful of him to check.

"Besides, I'm fucking starving. Pizza and Gatorade only go so far.”

“Did you come check my room because you wanted snacks?”

He smirked and strode across the room to your sad little fridge. He found a tall glass in a nearby cupboard and proceeded to pour himself a full glass of milk. As he drank, you groggily propped an elbow on your desktop and held your head in your hand. Negan drinking milk, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, was a disturbingly domestic image. Almost wholesome. 

Damn, you really needed some sleep.

He refilled the glass before putting the milk away and crossing back to your side of the room. He plunked the milk down in front of you. "You look thirsty."

You didn't exactly have a taste for milk at the moment, but your throat was still dry, and just about anything would suffice right then. You drank a couple of swallows.

"You fucking Johnson or something?"

The question caused you to jerk. Milk sloshed over your nose and chin. 

“Oh, shit.” Negan gave a half-gleeful chuckle at your expense.

You swallowed what was in your mouth and then set the glass down. Your shirt was already trashed from a day of baking, flour and frosting smears covering most of it. This was probably why people wore aprons. You pulled the bottom of your shirt up to dab at the milk on your face and asked, “Where the Hell did that come from?”

“Just trying to suss out why you'd be hanging around the building so late on a Friday.” 

You caught him glancing at your exposed midriff and smoothed your shirt back down. “And an affair with the principal is the most logical answer?”

He shrugged. 

“First of all, we wouldn't be stupid enough to meet up at the school. And second, don't you think I'd have a half decent refrigerator if I were screwing the principal?”

“So what you’re saying is, you've thought about it.”

You took a long, deep breath, counted to ten, and then let the air out slowly. “I was finishing up some things for the festival,” you chose not to dignify his previous comment with a response.

He looked around. Your students had been hard at work all week. Nearly every inch of workspace was taken up by trays of finger foods or sweet treats covered in plastic wrap. Some of the treats were packaged individually to be sold so that the proceeds could be donated to the local chapter of the Red Cross. The fall festival was a community-wide event, but the school hosted it at a neighboring farm and carried a large part of the financial burden. 

At around seven that evening, you'd determined that you had just enough ingredients left to make some small loaves of pumpkin bread to add to the bake sale. But you only had a few of the mini loaf pans, and your regular loaf pan was too rusted, so you had had to work in batches. You were waiting on the last batch to cool enough to package when you fell asleep at your desk earlier.

“You realize you aren't getting paid extra to do this, right?” 

You looked down. “It's my first festival here, and it's a big responsibility. I don't want to screw it up.”

“Big responsibility my ass. They're taking advantage of you. Who put you in charge of the food anyway?”

He was one to talk about taking advantage of others. “Lexi.”

“Well, there's a fucking conflict of interest,” he said to himself, rubbing his chin. “Look, you're still kind of new to the job.” You didn't bother reminding him it was your sixth year teaching. “You need to learn when to say no, which is actually most of the time. Otherwise, they'll chew you up and spit you out, and next thing you know, you won't have ten minutes to yourself or any time for things you actually give a damn about.”

“I give a damn about baking.” You knew it was a pretty weak defense.

“For now. Few more years of this shit, you might feel different. And then you won't be doing anyone any good. Next time Lexi asks you to do part of her job, tell her no.”

“Speaking of Lexi,” you said, wanting to change the subject, “how did the macarons go over?” 

“You kiddin'? Tickled fucking pink. You knocked it out the park again.”

“So how come you're not reaping the benefits now?”

“I was planning to give her a ride home from work, but Smith called just before we were about to head out. Lexi said she needed her beauty sleep for the festival tomorrow." He shook his head, docking his thumbs in his waistband. "Cock-blocked by an away game. See what I mean about saying no? Now I'm missing out on doing something I'm passionate about."

"I didn't realize you were passionate about Lexi."

"Passionate about her pus--"

"I get it!"

He bit his bottom lip in a shit-eating grin. "If you’d let me show you what I can do with my tongue, you'd  _ really _ get it then." 

Despite the hot spark of heat that shot through you at the suggestion, you rolled your eyes and took another drink of milk. This wasn't the first time he'd offered to show you his skills in the bedroom. You couldn't deny that you were curious to know what all the fuss was about; after all, you’d heard countless women extol his bedroom skills, but that didn't mean you were going to take him up on his offer either. You knew what Negan was about, and a couple of nights of fun in the sack just wouldn’t cut it for you.

He barely acknowledged your glance of annoyance. "Choosing beauty rest over sex probably means she's high maintenance though. What do you think?"

"About Lexi?" You weren't sure. You didn't know Lexi well, but she always seemed to be doing something or other around the school or in the community to make herself look good. The festival would go a long way toward raising her profile, so that could mean she was pretty high maintenance, but you didn't really know how that affected his sex life. 

You were actually kind of surprised Lexi was vying for Negan. You'd thought she was trying to cosy up to Principal Johnson. He had been divorced for about a year and a half, was somewhere around Negan's age, and wasn't bad to look at.

“I'm sure you'll have fun with Lexi tomorrow,” you said and glanced up at the clock on your wall  _ 12:07 _ . "Well, tonight, I guess.”

“What do you have left to do?”

“Just need to bag up some pumpkin bread.” You stood up and headed for the counter with the cooling bread. You took a small, clear baggy, slid a mini loaf into it, and then twisted the top before closing it up with a twist tie. 

Negan watched you for a moment and then washed his hands before he joined you and helped with the few remaining loaves. You noted that he paid careful attention to detail, making sure to twist in just the right place to both avoid crushing the bread and make the plastic above the twist tie look appealing. Most of your students rushed and bunched the top up so that it looked messy. 

As you reached for the final loaf, his hand beat you to it. "This one's a little ugly, sort of looks like a reject." It looked perfectly fine. "We should probably taste test it."

You laughed, turning to face him and leaning against the counter. "Eat the damned cake. We have plenty."

He grinned and broke the loaf in two, giving you half. "They do not deserve you," he said around a mouthful. He retrieved the unfinished glass of milk from your desk and finished half of what was left. 

You ate your half of the loaf, realizing you couldn't remember if you'd stopped working long enough to eat dinner. Oh well. "It's just pumpkin bread," you said after you'd swallowed. “Nothing fancy.”

He returned and handed you the remaining milk. “Some things are better without the extra frills.” He scrubbed a hand down the front of his shirt to knock off the crumbs. Then he reached over and brushed off the crumbs that had fallen onto your shirt, just above your chest. The touch was completely casual, but you couldn’t help the shiver that rippled through you in response. If Negan noticed, he didn't let on.

God, you were a mess. "I need sleep." You finished your milk.

“I can see that. Let me give you a ride.”

Even though you knew it would be an extra twenty minutes out of his way, you were happy to accept the offer. Krys lived on your side of town and had promised to help with festival prep in the morning, so you'd get a ride back from them.

You washed the milk glass and then checked over the room one more time to make sure everything was in order. It was, of course, but you were paranoid. Then you followed Negan out to his old GTO.

“How are you getting all that shit to the farm later?” He asked after you'd both gotten settled and you'd given him directions to your place. He pulled his hat off and tossed it in the back of the car before running his fingers through his hair. It was just past the point of needing a cut and fell in lopsided waves.

“A couple of students with pickups are coming by early, and a few others offered to help with set up.” You yawned.

“Good.” 

You watched him for a minute as he concentrated on the road. Lights flashed across his face. He had shaved earlier in the day, but stubble already covered his jaw. Some weeks, he wore a nearly full beard while others, he spent clean-shaven. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it. 

You hadn't expected to see him except maybe in passing at the festival later. He'd sent one of his jocks to retrieve the macarons on Thursday. You had sort of missed the interaction, having grown used to it over the past few weeks. Negan could be incredibly frustrating, but he kept things interesting. 

You woke up to warm fingertips skating across the inside of your forearm. Apparently the ride home had lulled you to sleep.

Negan said your name softly. Not "Sugar," which he'd been calling you since the first time you'd met, but your real name.

Happy tingles from the caresses on your skin danced a pathway up your arm and across your head. You blinked your eyes open to look at him in the low light of the car. 

He watched you for a minute as he drew a spiral over the pulse point at your wrist. He was gazing at you with an intensity you hadn't seen from him before. There was something almost vulnerable behind his eyes. He leaned forward, and the temperature in the car seemed to ratchet up by a couple of degrees. Your breath backed up in your throat, just for a second, and another shiver fluttered over your skin..

Then a shadow seemed to cross his features, and he pulled his fingers away.

You took a deep breath, the air feeling heavy and thick. You remembered that he'd called your name. "Yeah?" you whispered.

He wet his lips. “You snore.”

You blinked again. Whatever you'd thought he was about to say, it definitely wasn't that. “I do not snore.” The tension in the air evaporated.

As he reached over you to pull your door handle, a chuckle rumbled through his body and across yours. “I'll record it next time.” He settled back against his side of the car.

You huffed and got out. “Goodnight, Negan.”

“See you at the festival,” he said before you swung the door shut. 

You felt his eyes follow as you walked up the porch and let yourself in. Something felt off in the pit of your stomach, but you attributed it to the hour and your measly, late dinner. Sugar never agreed with you so late in the day.


	5. Chapter 5

“So let me get this straight,” Krys said. “Negan, ‘you all can suck my balls, I don't give a fuck,’ Negan, just offered you a ride home? And you took it? And you didn't even take a ride on his di--”

“Krys!” It was nearing dusk. The fall festival was just getting started, and dozens of families were already wandering around the farm. Since the festival wasn't limited to high schoolers, there were plenty of little ones around. Krys's rant had been less than quiet, and you were starting to get a lot of side eye. 

Krys just rolled their eyes. A sunset’s worth of oranges, reds, and yellows decked their eyelids. ”Fine, his joystick. Close your eyes so I can work.” They swept an eyeshadow brush through gold powder and waited for you to comply. 

You obeyed, and they began to brush a few gentle strokes over your eye. You'd just finished helping them set up the Glam Booth, where Krys and their students were doing a mini makeover fundraiser. "I was dead on my feet. I probably would've just crashed in the classroom all night if he hadn't found me."

“And the joystick?” 

“It’s not like that. We’re just friends, sort of.”

“Sort of friends? With Negan?” They made a sound of disbelief. “Please.” 

“He’s in no short supply of willing women. They just about trip over themselves for a ride on his…joystick.”

“The tripping thing’s pretty fucking effective. Oldest trick in the book, but a classic.” 

You recognized Negan’s voice immediately. Your eyes flew open, and Krys’s brush bristles nearly blinded you. You jerked backward.

Krys huffed. “Hold still.”

You closed one eye and glanced at Negan. “Fake tripping to get a man's attention is the oldest trick in the book?”

“Totally,” Krys answered, resuming their shading. “You mean you’ve never tried that one?”

Before you could respond, Negan rocked back and forth and said, “Now,  _ that  _ would be a sight to behold.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your style is a bit more subtle, Sugar. Dollars to doughnuts you bake a man something real special and invite him out for a picnic.”

You blushed. It had been a move you’d used on occasion, most recently with one of the automotive instructors from your old school. You’d found it rather effective.

“Nailed it on the fucking head,” Negan said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. 

“Switch,” Krys commanded.

You obediently closed your eye and opened the one they’d just finished. Then you refocused on Negan. “You do know there are children around, right?”

He looked around at the families that were now really starting to pour in and briefly placed a hand over his mouth as though he were embarrassed. “Well, fuck, you’re right. Better start watching the shit that comes out my mouth.”

Krys snorted.

“What’d you bake him?” Negan asked.

“Who?”

“The asshole you took on this magical picnic.”

“Apple pie.”

Krys and Negan shared a look and then smirked at each other.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re so vanilla,” Krys said. “Like, straight out of a Rockwell painting vanilla.”

“Real fuckin’ adorable,” Negan echoed, scrubbing at his chin.

You wrinkled your mouth. “I’m not  _ that  _ vanilla.” They both laughed at you with their eyes. “Vanilla’s an underrated flavor. It’s a classic. Subtly sweet and a little smokey.”

“That’s right,” Negan said. “Own it. Embrace what you are.”

You glared at him with your one open eye, which was neither easy nor particularly effective. 

“There you are, Negan,” Lexi popped up behind him and wound her arm through his. Lexi was soap opera actress pretty: medium height, long, dark hair curled just at the ends, expensive highlights, and a beauty mark on her lower right cheek. She looked like she might have a bit of Greek ancestry and was wearing a thin, burnt orange sweater with tights that showed off her curves. High heeled boots that went all the way up her calves finished the carefully-selected outfit. She reached up and gave Negan a kiss on the cheek. “I thought we were going to meet at the pumpkin patch.”

Krys rolled their eyes and started lining yours. You could feel them drawing a thick stripe on your upper lid and hoped you wouldn’t look too ostentatious.

Negan smiled wide at Lexi, then returned the kiss. “I looked more asshole than usual waiting around a pumpkin patch. Figured I might as well see what else the festival had to offer.”

“Other,” Krys said, and you switched eyes.

“So,” Lexi said to you, “I was surprised to see you over here with the Glammers. I thought you were going to stick with the baked goods charity booth.”

“What gave you that impression?” you asked, trying to move your face as little as possible.

She scoffed dramatically. “Well, you made them. I just assumed.”

“Actually, my kids made most of them.”

Krys pulled back and reached for the mascara. You opened your mouth and looked up when they started swiping it on.

Lexi sighed, annoyed. “Listen, I really need you to sit with the booth. I don’t have anyone else to cover it.”

“Sounds like poor planning on your part,” Krys said.

“I’ve already signed up to help with the Pumpkin Smash,” you told Lexi.

Krys finished with the mascara and told you to blink.

“I could really use your help.” Lexi said your name sweetly.

You finished blinking and then looked at her pleading face. Behind her, you could see Negan watching you with a raised eyebrow, eager for your response. You could also feel Krys’s eyes on you. “Sorry, Lexi. I spent the whole week getting things ready for today and all day setting up. I think I deserve a little fun tonight.”

Negan grinned and tongued his bottom lip, dropping his face quickly when Lexi glanced back at him. 

“Krys…?” Lexi began.

“Don’t waste your time, honey. My man’s on his way, and we got plans once my relief shows.” They took your chin in a light grip and started applying some gloss onto your lips with a disposable brush.

Lexi hmphed and looked at you. “Guess you can find someone else to remind Principal Johnson about the refrigerator.” 

This wasn’t too big a deal. Lexi had suggested she might be able to get Johnson to reconsider upgrading your fridge, but knowing Johnson’s position on it, you hadn’t put too much stock into the possibility anyway.

She turned to Negan and blinked up prettily at him. “I have to go deal with this. Do you mind coming with?”

His expression was slightly surprised. “Yeah, sure.” 

Lexi swished past him. 

Negan looked back at you. “Well, that was some awkward shit. Way to stick to those guns, Sugar. Although,” he tapped his bottom lip, “it might’ve thrown a wrench in the works for my night.”

Krys rubbed their lips together, in and out, until you followed suit to spread the gloss evenly. Negan watched.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am that you might have to work a little harder to score tonight,” you said.

He bit his lip again and rocked back. “Maybe not so vanilla after all.” He headed off after Lexi.

“What a piece of work. Negan must be desperate for that honey pot,” Krys said. 

You laughed. “I’m sure he sees it as a challenge.”

“No doubt. So listen,” they made a big show of fiddling with the cosmetics, “Matteo is bringing his cousin Jonah tonight, the one who works with him at the firestation. He thinks you guys'll hit it off.”

“Ugh, Krys, a blind date? I’ve already met my quota of awkward moments for the night.”

“It’s not a date, and it won’t be awkward. Just a chance to get to know someone new. You never know. You might like him. When’s the last time you went out anyway?”

You thought about it. Things with the automotive guy had gone well for a while, but they’d soured after a couple of months. He’d been obsessed with cars and healthy eating and didn’t see the point in baking, which had caused you to stress bake double batches of all your favorite treats. You’d dated him back in the early spring, and the district had requested you to change schools just before summer. Since then, it’d just been the occasional one-offs. Except now that you thought about it, you hadn’t really gone out since the school term had gotten under way. “It hasn’t been that long. Like, maybe June?”

They widened their eyes as if to say,  _ Wow _ . “Well at least give Jonah a chance. Matteo’s been talking you up to him for a couple of weeks.”

You shrugged. “Sure.”

Soon after that, it was time for you to report to the Pumpkin Smash. The Pumpkin Smash was sort of the kick off event for the whole festival. Last year’s winner had been Principal Johnson, who’d managed to smash a hundred and sixty-six pounds of pumpkin in five minutes. You had signed up because you found the event both ridiculous and amusing. When you checked in, the event coordinator told you were going to be a pumpkin picker and sent you out to find a smasher to team up with. 

You ran into Principal Johnson first. It was strange to see him out of a suit. He wore jeans and a pink, fitted polo shirt. He was tall, broad shouldered and looked more like a bodybuilder than a school principal. He kept his head shaved bald and had richly colored brown skin. He greeted you by name. 

“Hey there, Principal Johnson.”

“Don’t ‘Principal Johnson’ me. It’s Ray when we’re off the clock,” he said with an open-mouthed smile. Despite his size and station, he was pretty disarming. You could appreciate that. Of course, you’d appreciate it more if he were willing to invest in your discipline, but you weren’t going to hold your breath. He held a sledge hammer in one hand, the metal head resting on the ground. “I could use a picker if you don't have a partner yet.”

“Sucks for you, Johnson.” Negan came up beside you, a baseball bat in one hand, the business end propped along the line of his shoulder. He held a huge caramel apple on a stick in the other hand and took a large bite. “She's already taken.” 

You raised an eye at Negan. “Since when?”

“Well, Lexi was going to be my picker. But now she's covering the food stand. So you might as well take her place.” 

“I was recently told that I should say ‘no’ more often.”

“And you're doing great. You just said 'no' to Johnson.”

“You're the one who--”

“Excuse me, err, Principal Johnson, sir?” You all turned to see Lillian, Mildred the librarian's assistant, step up nervously to the principal. She wore overalls and big glasses, and her bright, orange hair hung in short, chunky curls. "They told me you still need a picker." The way she stuttered through the sentence was actually rather endearing, even to you.

Johnson met your eyes with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if you were with him. 

You thought about sticking it to Negan and partnering with the principal, but you weren't entirely sure sweet, mousy Lillian would be able to handle him. You'd seen him get competitive before, and it wasn't pretty. Besides, Lillian was already having a hard enough time around the principal, who was a teddy bear compared to Negan. “Looks like I'm with Coach Negan,'' you finally said, only a bit begrudgingly. 

Negan smirked as Johnson and Lillian headed over to one of the blue tarps to prepare.

“Here,” Negan held out the caramel apple.

“I'm not holding your food for you.” 

“Of course not. I got it for you.”

“It's half-eaten.”

“Thanks for sharing.”

You rolled your eyes, took the half-eaten apple, and bit into the untouched side. Whoever had made it had used a Granny Smith, so the apple was crisp and tart. The caramel was soft and buttery with a hint of salt, and there were slightly charred pecans crusted to the outside. It was a good bite. Your eyes might've rolled back into your head a bit as you swallowed.

Negan leaned in, letting the bat swing down by his side. “You know the right man could have you making that face all night.”

“And you think you're the right man?” You crunched another bite of apple.

He faltered for a brief second, probably more used to you shrugging off his flirtations. The grin was back in place just a moment later. But before he could respond, the Pumpkin Smash announcer called everyone up to his little stage and went over the rules. 

The pickers were responsible for grabbing pumpkins to place on the smasher's tarps. The smasher could use whatever handheld tool they deemed appropriate to smash as many pumpkins as possible in five minutes. After time was called, the mashed pumpkin that remained on the tarps would be weighed, and the team with the heaviest load of pumpkin guts would be declared the winners. First prize was five-hundred dollars. This news made your eyes widen, as you hadn’t realized there was an actual prize.

The sun had almost set, and you were in the twilight moments before night fell. Flood lights were already coming on to keep the area lit. You and Negan got in position by one of the tarps. 

“I want the fattest ones you can carry,” he told you, doing a fancy twirl with his bat.

You looked doubtfully at the pumpkin patch across the way. The patch was a good twenty yards away, and running wasn't exactly your forte. He probably should've enlisted one of his trackletes. Remembering the cash prize, you bit off more of the apple and chewed with determination.

He touched your upper arm gently, and you turned to him. He leant into you, saying, “Half these bozos will grab the really big ones and try to roll them over. Don't bother. They're too fucking heavy, and the ground's still damp. That shit’ll just slow us down.”

You nodded and stood on the big orange X that was spray painted beside the tarp, waiting for the signal to run.

“Oh, and sweetheart?” 

“Yeah?”

He tilted his upper body down toward you as though he wanted to tell you a secret. He examined you closely, a serious expression in his eyes. Then he reached around and grabbed what remained of the caramel apple from your hand. “Probably don’t want to run with that.” Grinning, he finished off what was left in two huge bites before tossing the stick carelessly behind himself. 

The announcer told everyone to get ready, and a second later, shot a flare that signaled everyone to go.

You'd only ever heard of the Pumpkin Smash and had never actually seen it in person. When you'd signed up to help, you'd sort of hoped to be a glorified spectator. You definitely hadn't dressed for a night of running. Otherwise, you would've grabbed boots for tearing across the field. Instead, you were in jeans and an oversized rosé colored sweater with tennis shoes. Most of the other pickers were women as well, which evened the playing field a bit but not by much. 

You launched off as fast as your legs would carry you toward the patch. The patch wasn't an actual patch of pumpkins still on the vine but instead a display of a couple hundred pumpkins. The first few rows were full of mini pumpkins, and a couple of pickers stopped to load their arms up. You toed your way past those to the middle of the patch and looked for a pumpkin that was large enough to carry but not so heavy you'd have to roll it. It took a subjective eternity, but finally, you spotted one that was about twice the size of a basketball. You wrapped both arms around it, cradled it close to your body, and jogged back across the field. As you got back to the main area of the event, you heard a group of choir kids singing "Monster Mash" except every time they reached the chorus, they replaced the words “monster mash” with “pumpkin smash.” It added to the strange hysteria you were starting to feel. Finally, you reached Negan and unceremoniously dumped the pumpkin onto his tarp.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen Negan make a more joyful face than when he smashed that first pumpkin with his bat. The fact that you found it more amusing than disturbing was probably a comment on your emotional well-being that a decent therapist would have a field day with. Pumpkin flesh, seeds, and innards flew all over the tarp, some landing on the grass around it. A few flecks splattered over your shoes and Negan's boots. Just before he nearly obliterated the pumpkin, he raised the bat again and shouted, “What're you waiting for? Go get me another one!”

Realizing you were just standing and staring at the pumpkin murder scene, you turned and ran back toward the patch. After that, you went on autopilot as you only needed to repeat the same process. You would go grab the fattest pumpkin you could carry, one that still allowed you to move fairly quickly, and run it back to Negan, who would smash it to smithereens while you ran for another one. Though you didn't have much time to pay attention to what others did, you couldn't help but be amused by the three pickers who had selected comically large pumpkins and were attempting to roll them to their smashers. 

By the time you were on what had to be your seventh pumpkin, you saw that Lillian was still struggling to roll her first to Johnson and felt a little bad for her. It was almost as high as her knees and as wide as a large person's derriere. If she managed to get it onto the tarp and leave Johnson enough time to smash it, they might stand a chance of winning.

Suddenly, she tripped, arms flailing out in the open field. Unfortunately, you happened to be the only thing nearby. Even though Lillian wasn't particularly large, her momentum was enough to knock both of you from your feet. You twisted around on the way down, trying to keep the pumpkin in your arms safe. You ended up landing mostly on your side. 

Lillian rolled into you as she hit the ground. She stammered out a bunch of barely intelligible apologies, and as she tried to get up, her hand went into the part of your hair that was on the ground, pulling it. You cried out and reached up to touch your tender scalp. It had rained a couple of days before, and the ground was soft enough that you could feel the cold, moistened dirt grinding into the side of your face that was pressed into the ground. You were sure to have mud in your hair and on your clothes. 

Lillian, apparently not realizing she’d hurt you again, was back on her feet quickly and started rolling her pumpkin the last few feet to Johnson's tarp. 

You drew in a shaky breath and then pulled yourself to your feet, pleased to see that your pumpkin had survived. You shook what dirt you could out of your hair, and after grabbing your pumpkin, closed the distance to the tarp. 

“Atta girl,” Negan said. 

You realized he had been leaning against the bat and watching the scene play out. Johnson had been doing the same as he was still awaiting his massive pumpkin. Between the fall and the inadvertent but painful hair pulling, tears had already sprung up behind your eyes. Another woman, who wasn't used to being covered in half the ingredients of her kitchen at any given opportunity, might choose this moment to lose it entirely. Luckily, you were made of stronger stuff. You dropped the pumpkin onto the tarp where it crashed into a mountain of pumpkin guts. 

“Nothing keeps your pretty little ass down,” Negan said. 

You grinned back at him. As you turned to go grab another, he reached out and swatted your ass. The action startled a surprised gasp and a laugh out of you, and the next thing you knew, the burning behind your eyes was gone, and your head was back in the game.

The rest of the competition flew by quickly. When all was said and done, you and Negan managed to pick and smash thirteen fat pumpkins. You were standing bent over, with your hands on your thighs, panting as he finished off the last pumpkin just as time was called. You looked around at the other contestants' piles. Lillian had managed to get the huge pumpkin to Johnson and had even supplemented with a few smaller ones. Negan definitely had one of the largest piles, but you weren't sure it would be the heaviest.

“That was the most intense five minutes of my life,” you said, still huffing, but only by a little.

“If you’d take me up on that offer to show you a good time, you’d find out how fucking intense five minutes can be.”

You looked at him, jeans and jacket covered in spatters of pumpkin, safety goggles covering his eyes, and still cocky as ever. He truly defied logic. You shook your head.

“Good look for you,” he said, pulling off the goggles and making a circular hand gesture around his own eyes to indicate your makeup.

“Thanks.” You'd seen them in a mirror. They weren't as ostentatious as you'd feared, but there was nothing subtle about them either. Krys had swirled pale pinks and golds over your eyes. The wing hadn't been overly dramatic but the liner on your top lid was still thick and intense. You'd thanked them even though it wasn't quite your style. What was the point of a makeover if you didn't look a bit out of the ordinary anyway? Besides, the kids would get a kick out of it.

“Real Barbarella goes mud wrestling.”

Mud wrestling? You remembered the fall and looked down. Sure enough, a mixture of mud and grass covered the majority of your right side. Both knees had brown stains, and there was a three-inch rip just under your right hip. You vaguely remembered hitting something hard. Several grass and dirt stains now marred your pretty sweater, too. The outfit had been new, a reward to yourself for your hard work over the past week. You reached up and ran a hand through your hair, shaking several clumps of dirt free. "Motherfucker."

Despite his obvious glee at your use of the expletive, Negan stepped close. "You do realize there are children around, right?"

You glared.

He chuckled. "Here." He palmed his pumpkin covered bat into your free hand and reached both hands into your hair, knocking your own out of the way. Dirt rained free as he loosened the majority of it. He feathered his fingers through your hair for a couple of minutes, working out tangles and blades of grass. 

This certainly wasn't the first time he'd touched you; the casual touches were becoming a regular occurrence. That was just the way he was, naturally hands-on. But something about this particular touch felt oddly intimate. He wasn't examining you for injuries like he'd done a week ago when you'd whacked your head. That had been almost clinical. Now, he touched you like he was used to doing so, like running his fingers through your hair was an everyday thing. And he was standing so far in your space that you were basically breathing the same air. You felt yourself sway a little closer as your body started reacting, almost arching into his touch. Then you caught yourself and went still, planting one of your feet more sturdily into the ground.

He met your eyes. “Probably as good as you'll get without a shower.” He brushed your hair back behind your shoulders and let his hands drop away.

You nodded, handed him the bat, and stepped back, busying yourself with brushing the excess dirt off your sweater and jeans. Maybe letting Negan touch you freely wasn’t such a great idea. Your mind was really solid on where you both stood, but your body was starting to pick up mixed signals, and you definitely knew better than to let her do your thinking. 

You probed at the hole on the side of your thigh to see if the rock or whatever had caused the rip had also punctured your skin, but you seemed free of injury save for what would probably be a pretty fantastic bruise. Small favors.

“You could always strip ‘em off. Not too many who would mind seeing you in your skivvies. You wearing those polka dots today?”

You blushed. 

“Jesus. That was a shot in the fucking dark.” He stepped closer and wet his lips. "You know, I--"

“Hey, Negan,” Lexi said breathily as she jogged up, “it took forever, but I finally found someone to cover…” she trailed off, looking between you and Negan, seeming to take in how close you were standing. 

You took another step back. 

She put a hand on his upper arm, and then looped her arm through his. “Did you have some kind of tussle with the Mud Man or something?” she asked you. 

Right. You had forgotten for just a second. “I fell.” You said with as much dignity as one can when smeared with dirt.

“Shoulda seen it. It was real badass,” Negan said, swinging the bat in his other hand and then propping it against the toe of his boot. “The pumpkin she saved'll probably be the one to put us over the edge.”

“Guess it would have been safer for you to sit with the food,” she said, seeming to ignore him.

Was she seriously that upset about you not taking on another of her duties? Or did she actually think you were a threat to her nonexistent relationship with Negan? Either way, you didn't see any point in sticking around. “Thanks for the apple, Negan. You should try mine sometime.” You hadn’t meant that to sound so suggestive when it came out--you did make a mean caramel apple, after all--but now it was out there in the ether, and you couldn't take it back. You pivoted to hightail it out of there before he could reply. You didn't have to look back to know he was watching you with one of his patented grins.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite what many people think, in teaching, there are very few concrete rules. Walk into just about any Fundamentals of Education lecture hall, and one is likely to hear a professor droning on and on about how education is an adaptive process. "Teachers and other school workers must always keep in mind that they are also mentors and that part of their job is to educate the 'whole person,'"  _ blah, blah, blah.  _

Rules must be flexible. Teachers have to be prepared to adapt at a moment’s notice. To use a completely outrageous, could never happen in a million years example, if, say one’s nation were swept up in a global pandemic, a teacher might then be required to teach geometry to two-hundred students lying on their beds with their pets, using unreliable internet and software. That’s just the name of the game.

Rules are merely guidelines to keep the institution functioning. But the moment a new teacher walks into a high school, they will be hit with several very hard, uncompromising rules.

_ One: Don’t have sex with the students. And don’t let them think for a moment that you’re toying with the idea of having sex with them. _

_ Two: Whether you’re on school grounds or not, to the student, you will ALWAYS be a teacher first, until they’re at least thirty. So go out of town to buy your alcohol. _

_ And Three: Never try to break up a physical fight between students. _

You’d been surprised to hear the third rule. Wasn’t it the teacher’s job to get between students and stop them from hurting each other?

“What it all boils down to,” your mentor Shelvia Watkinson had told you, “is liability.” She was short and thin with dark skin and an attitude the size of the Empire State building. “The school doesn’t want to pay worker’s comp when you get your ass handed to you by one of the students because they're hulked out on hormones.” Regardless of gender, when high school kids fought, they did it with every ounce of passion in their body. If fists started flying, injuries were sure to follow. As a teacher, you had been told that it was your job to call the security officers and ensure no harm came to students not actively involved in the fight. The fighters had already made their decisions and would just have to live with whatever injuries and other consequences resulted from their poor choices: whole person teaching at its finest.

So when the fight broke out between some kids at the festival, even though your initial reaction was to break it up, your training stopped you in your tracks. That, and the fact that you really didn’t want to get covered in mud again. Krys had nearly taken your head off earlier when they’d seen the damage from the Pumpkin Smash.

“What in the actual Hell?” Krys had asked when you got back to the Glam Booth after leaving Negan behind to await the results of the Smash. “Do I even want to know?” They were standing in front of the booth and leaning down to work on the eyes of a student. You recognized him as Yousef, a sweet and quiet kid from your fifth period.

You told Krys about Lillian taking you down. 

“I get you a date, and this is how you thank me? They're going to be here in like twenty minutes.”

“It was a freaking accident, Krys. Give me a break.”

They studied your face for a moment. “What's with the sour grapes?”

“Lexi got under my skin.”

They smacked their lips. “She does that. Don't let her ruin your night.”

“I think the mud's pretty much got that covered.”

“Honey, I am appalled.” They propped their wrist on their hip. “Have you forgotten who you're talking to? Just let me just finish with this beauty here,” Yousef, whose eyes Krys was shading in blue, indigo, and yellow, blushed, “and me and the Glammers will bibbidi bobbidi boo your ass up in no time.”

Ten minutes later, Krys and their glamorous gang, some of whom were students and others who were friends, descended upon you. They twisted and arranged your hair into a casual updo that hid the majority of the mud and scrounged enough makeup remover wipes to help wipe the remaining dirt off your skin. There wasn't much to do about your jeans and shoes besides try to wipe them off as well, so the stains looked a shade lighter than they had before. 

One of the girls donated the white tank she was wearing as an undershirt, and another gave you the oversized black flannel shirt she was using for a jacket. It hung just past the rip under your hip, and you buttoned it up halfway over the tank. There wasn't a full-length mirror, but Krys assured you that you were pulling it off. After the mini-pampering session, you were able to let go of your frustrations from earlier enough to feel more like yourself. You thanked everyone and promised them some baked treats for their trouble.

Matteo and his cousin arrived shortly after. Matteo was about as tall as Krys, who had a couple of inches on you. You knew from past encounters that he'd been born in Honduras but had moved to the States when he was five. He had close-cropped hair and sweet eyes and was unapologetically smitten with Krys, which dramatically raised your already favorable opinion of him.

Jonah was pretty easy on the eyes, too. He was a bit taller than his cousin and had the same shade of golden brown skin. His eyes were a lighter hazel color, and his hair was thick, curly, and long. He wore it pulled back in a puffy ponytail. His frame was lightly muscled, and he wore jeans and a shirt with rainbow cartoon ponies that proclaimed,  _ Bronies Never Say “Die.” _ The fact that he was a fireman raised his hotness level by several points as well.

Jonah was nice. He and Matteo took you and Krys to the apple stand for cider. It was hot, sweet, and spicy. 

Krys suggested you all go to the corn maze. You weren't a huge fan of such mazes, having found them tedious and boring in the past. But you guessed it was as good an opportunity as any to get to know someone.

Of course, you were less pleased with the decision when five minutes into the maze, Krys suggested they and Matteo take a different route, to see who got to the end fastest. You recognized the ruse for what it was: a chance for them to sneak off and make out while you and Jonah were forced to speak and get to know each other or endure silence until you managed to escape the maze.

Jonah sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. I knew he was going to pull something like this.”

“It’s fine. I expected as much of Krys. You know how happy couples are; they assume everyone else needs a mate to be just as happy.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re not interested in a mate?”

“Oh, no. It’s not that.” You searched for words. “I mean, I am on the market, and it would be great to find what Krys and Matteo have.” Even better if you could skip all the awkward getting to know each other stuff and the frog-kissing.

“Just not in a rush to find your soulmate?” he asked with a smile. A carefully groomed mustache and chin strap surrounded full lips. You wondered if he would be a good kisser.

“Life keeps me pretty busy.”

This led to a conversation about your busy lives, and you both talked about your jobs for a while. After that, the conversation moved to small talk, and you swapped hobbies and a couple of interesting anecdotes. 

He was telling you a story about how an uncle who everyone had thought had been dead for two years crashed the last family reunion.

“Why would your cousin Ricardo assume your uncle was dead just because he wasn't home one time?”

He shrugged. “The better question is, why would the whole family take Ricardo at his word and not follow up or even have a funeral? Mama says that's just how they do things in the village.” He was referring to the town in Honduras where his mother was from.

You laughed. “Sounds like a pretty incredible place.”

“Yeah it's--” a wailing siren cut him off, and he reached for his cell phone and looked at the screen. “I gotta take this. I'm on call.” 

“No problem. I'm going to walk ahead and see if I can find one of the markers so we can get out of here.” 

He nodded before you'd even finished and picked up the phone.

You pulled your own phone out of your pocket and turned on the flashlight. Why the Hell didn't they have lights posted in the maze? Seemed like a liability issue. Every few minutes, a spotlight would wander over the top of the corn, tracing the path and looking for stragglers who’d lost their way. Signs were posted every few turns with a number to text in case of an emergency, and every so often, you would happen upon one of the posted maps. 

You thought about Jonah. You actually had several common interests, and he seemed like a cool guy. You liked that he was as dedicated to his work as you were; guys who hated their jobs were the worst. And he was definitely attractive. You just weren't feeling a spark, which was rather frustrating. He had invited you to a haunted trail the weekend of Halloween, and you’d told him you’d think about it. You should probably tell him yes. Maybe the spark just needed more time.

A song was playing over the sound system: “Wicked Game,” not the Chris Isaak version but a rocked up version that sounded one part metal and two parts stalkerish love song. The vocals were haunting.

You turned a corner, trying not to get too far from Jonah but also ready to be out of the maze and get a funnel cake. You'd skipped dinner so you could enjoy a night of trashy festival eats.

Up ahead, you heard laughter. Not fun laughter, but the overly loud, ugly kind that usually accompanied mean-spirited teasing. Your Teacher Senses started tingling.

“Oh my God, did a palette explode your face?” It was the nasally screech of a Mean Girl. 

You jogged up ahead, following the laughter.

“Kelly, get a picture of me with the chameleon.”

You turned several corners before you finally found them. Three older girls, probably juniors or seniors, surrounded a smaller kid, one girl pointing a heavy duty flashlight in his face. You recognized Yousef, the boy whose eyes Krys had done earlier. Another tall blonde had her arm around his shoulders, posing.

“G-get the f-fuck off me!” he yelled.

The girls laughed again, wagging the big flashlight closer to Yousef's face. “Come on, don’t you want to be one of us,  _ girlfriend _ .”

The third girl was taking pictures with her phone. “We’ve already got a hundred reacts. Do something else.”

"Hey, get away from him!" Even though you'd yelled, they ignored you completely. You were hoping to head the incident off before things reached the point of no return. “Girls!”

Yousef burst from the blonde’s grip and tried to run. The girl grabbed his jacket, and they all jumped on top of him, forcing him to the ground.

You remembered your training; do not engage. Get help. But the closest help you knew of was Jonah. What if you went back for him and couldn't find him or took too long getting back? You had swapped numbers earlier and tried to call his phone, but he didn't pick up. You opened to your text messages, trying to remember the farm emergency number to text, but it didn’t come to mind. You should’ve put it in your phone immediately when you entered the maze. Teachers were supposed to be prepared.

Yousef started fighting in earnest, kicking out and trying to squirm away from the girls. 

One ground his face into the dirt. Another sat on him, and the third punched him in the eye. He screamed.

You looked down and saw Negan’s name on the bottom of your text threads, clicked on it, and then called. 

He picked up on the second ring. “Miss me already?”

“Negan?!”

“The fuck’s wrong?”

“I’m in the corn maze. There’s a fight!” As if to punctuate your words, the kids screamed. You had looked away for one second, and the huge flashlight came out of nowhere, soaring through the air and smacking you in the face. Your phone tumbled out of your hand. You cursed and went down to get it. 

Yousef screamed again. Forgetting the phone, you looked back to find all three of the girls were on top of him. The phone light was trained on Yousef’s face again. The blonde was on his back, jerking his short hair backward with one hand while the other pushed his jaw down into the dirt. 

You didn't remember making the conscious decision to intervene, to leave years of in-service training in the dust, but it must have been around the time you heard Yousef cry out again. Not just a scream this time, but an actual cry. 

You reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the girl with the phone. She took a swing at you immediately, catching you in the ribcage, and knocking the air from your lungs. Dropping her phone, she launched herself on top of you, pulling your hair. Why did they always have to go for the hair? You screamed and tried to push her off you, but she had a larger frame and the upperhand, so pushing didn’t do much but piss her off that much more. The back part of your brain reminded you that you were an adult, that one bruise on her could get you an assault charge whereas the law was much more forgiving toward teen assailants. You blocked when she tried to punch you, twisting to protect the important bits. 

Finally, you managed to get your leg up enough to roll both of you into a row of corn stalks. She jerked your hair harder as she landed on her back, and you grabbed her wrist to try to get her to let you go, yelling at her to do the same. She finally released your hair, but the moment of relief was short-lived as she landed a hard punch to your jaw. You jerked backward, and wound up on your back, crushing corn beneath you.

She wasted no time, jumping on top of you again, clawing and punching. 

Suddenly, light shined all around you as the spotlights convened on the area. Someone yelled something on a megaphone, and then half a dozen voices joined in. 

The next thing you knew, the girl was pulled off you. You didn’t recognize her and wondered if she was from one of the other high schools in the district. With a deep breath, you fell back into the grass and corn. The dried stalks crunched beneath you. 

Well, that had been an epically stupid decision. Turning to the side, you saw that the other girls had been pulled away from Yousef, and he was curled in on himself, still in tears. Lillian was kneeling down beside him, saying soothing words. Coach Anderson had his hand around the upper arm of one of the other girls, and Principal Johnson had both massive arms out, blocking the blonde ringleader and the girl who'd just been dragged off you from stepping near Yousef. 

You heard your name and looked up to find Negan. He reached down for you, and you took his hand and let him haul you up. He glared down at you for a moment and then started pulling you away from the crowd. 

As you dumbly let Negan lead you away, you saw that Jonah, who had apparently just caught up, was standing back and watching the whole thing with wide eyes. He tracked your departure with Negan. You wondered if he would follow. You weren't sure you could face him too right then. 

As it turned out, you had been pretty close to the exit. Negan pulled you along and then sat you on a haystack that was a few feet from the maze. A lamppost a few yards away provided gold-tinted light. 

Negan gripped both your upper arms. “What in the ever-loving fuck did you think you were doing?”

At the moment, trying to catch your breath. “I was just… they were…. He's so  _ small _ .”

“Six years, six fucking years on the job. You telling me you don't know better?” His grip on your arms tightened, and he shook you once. 

His words echoed your own thoughts. You had known better, and you should have waited, but you’d been caught up in the moment, unable to stand by and watch Yousef get hurt. He was a victim.

“My man, you need to back off.” Jonah, had, indeed, followed you. It was nice of him to speak up on your behalf, really. Just, maybe not the smartest move.

Negan cut his eyes to Jonah. “And who in the fuck are you?”

“He's…” What was he? Not really anyone to you. Krys was right; this definitely wasn't a date. It was mostly a disaster. “He's Krys’s boyfriend's cousin.”

Negan looked between the two of you. “Are you on a fucking date? Did you try to break up a fucking fight in the middle of a fucking date while this shithead stood back and let you?”

“It's not a date.” You weren't sure if he heard you because at the same time, Jonah stepped closer and said, “Hey, man, I was gone for like two minutes.” 

Ugh, you really needed Jonah to take the hint and shut up. Negan was getting angrier by the second, which was both stressing you out and pissing you off. You were already mad enough at yourself for the both of you.

Negan's head twisted to Jonah, and he finally let you go. “Two minutes is all it takes for shit to go to Hell. The least you can do, pretty boy, is make sure she's not putting herself in the line of fire.”

“Settle down, alpha. It’s the twenty-first century. Women can do whatever they want.”

Ah geez, why did he have to sound like a douchebag when he said it?

Negan stepped up to Jonah. “Listen up, you piece of--”

“Jonah,” you said, pushing yourself up off the haystack, “I dropped my phone in the chaos. It's somewhere in the maze. Would you please go see if you can find it? And let Krys know where I am?”

It was clear Jonah recognized the favor as a dismissal, but you still put on the most pleading face you could muster when he looked at you.

“You sure you're okay being alone with this guy?”

“Oh, now he grows a pair!”

“Negan,” you ground out, glaring at him. You shifted back to Jonah. “He's a friend.” Or whatever. “He's just good at being an asshole. I'll be fine.”

Jonah finally nodded, sent Negan a warning glare, and then headed back into the maze.

You closed your eyes for a second and took a deep breath. When you opened your eyes, Negan was standing in front of you again, just as mad, but he'd shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“What were you thinking?” His voice was much quieter now.

You walked back to the haystack and sat. “I wasn't.” You leaned back. “I just heard this kid--one of  _ my _ kids--screaming and crying, and I couldn't wait anymore. I had to do something.” 

He dropped down beside you. “Do you have any clue how much fucking worse that could've been? What if it had been boys? You can’t just jump into shit like that.”

“I know.” 

“What if you'd gotten hurt?”

You shrugged. The motion pulled your side, and you tried to hide a wince.

“Shit, you  _ are _ fucking hurt.”

“I'm fine. Mostly just busted pride. Nothing a day in bed won't fix.”

“Day in bed my ass. Get the fuck up.” He stood.

“What?”

“You're going to the fucking medic.”

You stared at him. “The Hell I am! I'm fine.” You were barely banged up.

“Oh, you're going, sweetheart, if I have to carry you there myself kicking and screaming.”

You stood and glared up at him. “Don't even think about it.”

He leaned down so that he was at eye level. “Don't make me.”

“If you think that just because you got to play hero back there that you're now somehow entitled to telling me what to do, you can think again.” 

“I get to tell you what to do because you're making stupid fucking decisions like putting yourself in between a bunch of asshole kids.”

You leaned close, right in his face and said, “Fuck you, Negan.” 

“Just tell me when and where, Sugar.” The words hung between you for a moment, and awareness of proximity and the tension in the air seemed to crash into you both at once. Even in the low light, you could see his pupils dilate. An answering pull of heat tugged somewhere low in your belly.

You were about half a second away from showing up your own stupidity by answering his demand when you heard voices and recognized Krys calling for you.

You jolted backward and fell back down onto the haystack, landing on your ass as though you'd never even gotten up.

Negan looked at you for a second like you'd just asked him some unsolvable riddle. Then he stepped out to the side to watch the others approach and put his hand on his hip.

Krys gasped dramatically when they saw you. Matteo had his arm around them, and Jonah followed on their heels.

You reached a self-conscious hand into your hair. You had no idea what you looked like, but you knew the updo the Glammers had worked so hard on had been completely torn to shreds. You pulled a piece of dried corn husk and some dirty corn silk out of your hair and echoed Krys with a sigh. 

Looking down, you saw that you were once again covered in dirt and other debris. One of the buttons on the flannel shirt had ripped off, and it gaped unevenly around the tank top. The seams on the neckline of the tank had popped, leaving a tear over your upper chest. You could repair it all easily enough, but the fact that you'd already damaged two sets of clothes, one of which didn't even belong to you, in one night sent a fresh wave of emotion over you. A slightly crazed giggle bubbled out.

Krys looked you up and down, twisting their mouth to the side. “Looks like someone needs a funnel cake.”

The giggle graduated to a full on laugh. You couldn't help it.

As you stood, you heard Negan say, “Make sure she sees the nurse,” before he headed off, probably to find Lexi and drag her off like a caveman.

This was a good thing. Maybe if Negan fucked out all his aggression, you'd be able to share the same space with him for ten minutes without your body going haywire. At least, that's what you told yourself. 


	7. Chapter 7

Negan won the Pumpkin Smash, but it turned out that the “cash prize” was actually a cash donation to charity in the winners’ names. You’d hoped to earn a little money for your poor, dying fridge, but things never seemed to work out so easily for you. You didn’t begrudge the Boys and Girls Club. Much.

A day in bed didn’t make all the aches and pains from the festival fade, but the downtime was an excellent reward after such a crazy week. You’d decided to blame it all on the full moon. You had several scratches on your arms, a couple of bruises around your midsection, and another bruise the size of a football on your hip from the fall. These were all easy enough to cover up, so you weren’t too bothered.

The strange events weren’t so easy to shake off. The encounters with Negan had left you frustrated, not just sexually. You’d thought you were immune to his charm, but it appeared you’d just been fooling yourself. Then again, maybe it really had just been the full moon. 

When you walked into your classroom the Monday morning after the festival, an expensive latte was waiting on your desk. Beside it was a note with chicken scratch scrawled over it that read _ For inspiration. I’m taking Gwyn to the home game this week _ . That was as much as you heard from Negan during the week, and you were glad for it. You needed the time to make sure your defenses were solidly back in place.

On Thursday, he sent another student to collect the banoffee hand pies that you had made for the English teacher. Gwyn had previously been dating Lance, one of the science guys, up until just a few weeks ago, and you had been surprised to learn she was going out with Negan. You’d hung out with Lance and Gwyn and a few other work buddies on a couple of weekend outings, and they had seemed pretty solid. 

Your week went by quickly. Fortunately, it wasn’t as busy as the previous week, and you had time to recharge and heal from the chaos of the festival. As a result, you decided that you needed to get out of the house on the weekend.

Home games were free for teachers, and after thinking over what Negan had told you about supporting the kids, you decided to go to the Friday game. As your best buddy, Krys was also required to be in attendance. They brought their boyfriend Matteo. 

“I mentioned to Jonah that we were coming tonight,” Matteo told you as you all found your seats in the concrete stadium.

“Oh?” You and Jonah had exchanged a couple of texts during the week, but so far, nothing of substance. He hadn’t asked about going to the haunted trail again yet. You were glad because you still weren’t sure if you wanted to go.

“Yeah, he’s pulling nightwatch at the station though.”

You nodded. “Too bad.” You had at least managed to get past the awkward way the night at the festival had ended. Maybe if he'd come tonight, you'd be able to see if you could kick start the chemistry. 

“You planning to come out with us next week?” He put his arm around Krys, who leaned back into him.

You shrugged. “Still thinking about it.”

Krys and Matteo shared a look, and you couldn’t help but feel as though some comment about you passed between them through Couple ESP. It annoyed you, but you tried not to let it show.

“I’m going to go get some snacks.” Matteo stood and looked at Krys. “Hotdog, whatever peanut butter candy they have, and a Dr. Pepper?”

“You know me so well,” they replied.

“What can I get you?” he looked your way.

“I’m good. Thanks, though.”

Krys tugged the sleeve of Matteo’s jacket before he could go. “You know that means nachos and a Coke, right?”

“I do now.” He leaned in for a quick peck with them and was on his way.

“So,” Krys turned to you, “how long are you going to keep Jonah on the hook?”

“I don’t have him on a hook.”

They arched an immaculate eyebrow. Their eyes were shadowed in a purple to lavender gradient with silver accents. “If you’re not interested, just tell him. He’s a big boy.”

You shrugged. “I might be.”

They hmphed. “What you  _ might  _ be is interested in someone else. You know, everyone knows you and Negan spent half the festival together.”

You wondered who “everyone” entailed. The gossip ring in the lounge, or was Krys just exaggerating? “It definitely wasn’t half. Just a few minutes here and there.”

They gave you an unamused look and leaned in. “And don’t think I was blind to the major eye-banging that was going on when he was at the booth.”

“Wow, ‘eye-banging’?” If it’d happened at the booth, you’d been completely oblivious. Of course, if Krys had seen you with Negan just after the Pumpkin Smash or the corn maze fight before they'd showed up, they would have a much more solid case. You’d kept mum on those moments. You figured the best way to tamp down the inopportune attraction was to ignore it.

They narrowed their eyes. “What about this?” They pulled out their phone, swiped through a few screens, and showed a picture of you and Negan at Ollie’s diner from the other night. You took the phone and examined the image for a minute. In it, you were leaned toward Negan, burger in hand and a smile on your face. His head was thrown back, laughing at something one of you said. He looked happy, almost carefree. The top comment beneath the image read,  _ I am absolute TRASH for CoachSugar!  _

You handed the phone back. “What’s CoachSugar?” It sounded like the name of a new designer drug.

Krys rolled their eyes. “Are you kidding me? It’s the ‘ship name the kids have for you guys.”

You had your own relationship tag? The idea was both disturbing and cool. “Why are they shipping us?”

“Maybe because you guys are together all the time?”

“It’s really not that often.” Just a couple of hours a week, give or take. The wind blew, and you shivered, wishing you’d brought your jacket.

“Often enough for you to have two of the top photos on the school ‘ship account.”

“Seriously, there’s a whole Instagram account for school couples?”

“Totally. Me and Matteo are FireGlamour, you know, because he's a firefighter, and I'm glamorous AF. And Lance and Gwyn are Camelot, or they were until they broke it off.” They swiped through various pics of them with Matteo and a couple of Lance and Gwyn. They showed you some of the other school ‘ships; a few were actual couples, and others were people who the students hoped would get together. You were surprised to learn you’d somehow ended up in a virtual fantasy realm without your knowledge.

The other picture of you and Negan was from right before the Pumpkin Smash. He was smiling down at you, watching you with those dark eyes, hand reaching around you to take the rest of the candy apple. You were looking back up at him with your mouth partially open, upper body reaching toward him. The moment looked disturbingly intimate from an outside perspective. You were kind of bothered that someone had taken the picture without your knowledge.

Speaking of Negan, you looked around for a minute and eventually found him in the stands further down and to the right. He was sitting with Gwyn, who was short with golden, auburn-streaked hair. The two were turned toward each other chatting, Gwyn speaking animatedly with her hands.

You liked Gwyn. She was sweet and funny, smart without being in your face about it. It was weird to see Negan with someone like her, who you considered so normal. Maybe it was just because you were used to hanging out with her when she was part of Camelot. You wondered if she would fall in bed with him just as easily as the rest.

About that time, Matteo returned, arms full of food. You thanked him and slurped down some Coke before you started working on the nachos. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Negan again. He looked up at you, smiled, and waved. Gwyn happened to notice and followed his line of vision before waving as well. You waved back to both of them with a chip in hand.

You leaned toward Krys. “What do you think Gwyn and Negan’s ‘ship name will be?” Maybe LadyAndTheTramp.

“Please, Gwyn will have her fun with Negan and go right back to Lance. They’re totally an OTP. One of my kids told me Gwyn’s just ticked because she and Lance have been together for three years, and his dumbass said he was still on the fence about getting married when she pressed him.”

If that were the case, you really didn’t see how going out with Negan would improve the situation. It might actually make things worse, but it was her life.

The game finally got started. You were impressed that Krys and Matteo waited through most of the first quarter before ditching you to go make out. You didn’t really care. Now that you were there, surrounded by students and their families, you were sort of enjoying yourself even though you weren’t really into the game. Several students waved or came by and introduced you to dates, friends, or family members. Sometimes they would sit for a couple of minutes before moving on to socialize with someone else.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up to see Negan and then looked down at his previous spot as though you needed to make sure. It was empty, of course. “What happened to Gwyn?”

He dropped down beside you. He wore his black leather jacket, the same one that had been covered in pumpkin guts the week before, over a white shirt, with jeans. “I wasn't really listening to her and might've said some stupid shit about her mama.” He shrugged and snatched one of your cold nachos. “Wasn't going anywhere anyway.”

This was hard to believe. You’d never known Negan to strike out. Then again, it wasn’t like you followed up on the progress of his dates personally.

“Don't look at me like that. She talked about her ex most of the time. Probably going to be fucking him again by the end of next week.” He reached around you for your soda, arm brushing against your back as he did so. “Besides, I don't do rebounds.” He took a long pull from your straw. 

This piqued your curiosity. Rebounds seemed like a sure, easy thing, and Negan was all about easy. “Why not?”

“They get  _ attached _ .”

“Well we wouldn't want that.”

He offered you your cup, and you took it. “There's a certain type of person who always has to be with someone, floats from one relationship to the next to keep from feeling lonely. I try to stay the fuck out of that.”

You didn’t bother telling him the flip side of that was the type of person who treated sex just short of a business transaction, trying a new person every week. “Did she at least enjoy the hand pies?” You took a drink of your Coke and set the cup and your tray of mostly finished nachos between the two of you.

“Look at you, fishing for compliments.” 

You rolled your eyes and watched the game. One team appeared to be close to their end zone. You just weren't sure if it was yours.

He gave you a sidelong glance. “You know she loved ‘em.”

You didn’t try to hide the satisfied smile that pulled at your lips. “I was amazed to see you didn't have a picnic basket stored in the stands with a blanket and snacks, you know, to really pull out all the stops and seal the deal.”

He laughed. “It usually doesn't take that much. Most women have already made up their minds about whether or not they’re going to fuck me before we even go out.”

Nice that he put it so delicately. You noticed an older woman give him a dirty look but didn’t say anything. “What about when they haven’t made up their minds?”

“I have contingencies.”

You laughed, not surprised. "Those must be a sight to behold." Your team scored, and everyone stood to cheer.

After a few minutes, you sat back down and watched the game quietly, trying to follow it. Negan finished both your nachos and your soda and then pawned the trash off on a passing student. 

“I shouldn’t have gotten rough with you the other night.”

The admission seemed to come out of nowhere. You’d just been thinking how you’d expected your next encounter with him would be all kinds of awkward, considering how you’d left things on Saturday, but so far, it wasn’t. You turned to look at him, but his gaze was firmly fixed on the field. You tried to shrug it off. “What I did was stupid. I was just as pissed at myself.”

“When you called, I guess the phone dropped or whatever. And then I heard you screaming but didn’t know where you were in that damned maze.” He scratched his chin. “Hits a man in a real primal place to hear shit like that going down and be able to do fuck all about it.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Finally, you leaned to the side and bumped your shoulder to his. “Thanks for caring.”

He smirked.

A cool breeze blew past, and you shivered, making a mental note to bring both a sweater and a jacket next time, just in case. Everyone else seemed to have received the memo about wearing layers.

"Hey, Coach." You looked up to see a tall, thin kid with his blonde hair pulled back into a topknot. He held a drink tray with four styrofoam coffee cups in his hand. 

"Hey, Tommy." 

You vaguely recognized Tommy as one of the star track kids. 

Negan introduced you, using your title and surname since Tommy was a student. 

"From Home Ec, right? Jessica said she's in your class." He twisted and waved a few rows up and behind him to indicate a young, dark skinned girl with short, wavy hair and glasses. She waved back self-consciously.

She was a sweet girl, a little bookish. You were surprised to see her with one of the sporty guys.

“She looks a little cold.” Negan fished out his keys from his jeans pocket. “Why don't you grab the blanket from my backseat? Just leave the keys in the car.”

“Thanks, Coach.” He took the keys. “Hot chocolate?” 

“Appreciate it, kid,” Negan said, taking two of the cups. As he passed one to you, Tommy headed off.

Amused by the exchange, you happily accepted the cocoa, content to warm your hands with the cup. Negan really did take full advantage of the coach status. You wondered vaguely if he knew about the students shipping different couples. He'd probably eat it up.

After a minute, you opened the drinking spout and took a slow sip. It was almost too hot to drink, so you blew on it before your second, smaller sip. 

The band played across the field while the color guard did a complicated-looking flag and rifle routine in time with the music. Personally, you found the halftime show more enjoyable than the game itself. When you took another drink of your cocoa, it had cooled to a reasonable temperature. The chocolate was nice, warm and sugary, bordering just on too sweet.

Negan took a long drink from his own cup. A drop clung to his bottom lip, and he flicked his tongue out to catch it. He was letting the beard grow out again, salt and pepper fuzz covering his chin, jawline, and upper lip. He looked good. You realized you were staring and snapped your gaze back to the field.

A couple of minutes passed before you noticed him giving you another sidelong look, a lop-sided grin playing at his mouth. "How's the chocolate?"

You took another drink automatically. "It's good. It's…" you trailed off, taking in his playful look; then you craned your neck to look back at Tommy and Jessica. They were huddled together under the blanket. Tommy was leaning down to whisper something in her ear. She held a cocoa in one hand and his hand in the other, and was biting her lip and blushing at whatever he was saying. You couldn't see where his other hand was. You looked back at the chocolate in your hand and then at Negan again. "Oh my God," you said almost a little too loud. " _ That _ was one of your moves? To have a kid bring us cocoa?"

He broke out into a full grin. "Work smarter, not harder." He took a sip of his drink.

Obviously Tommy was an operator as well. You wondered if they had the same arrangement every game or if Negan switched around, using different kids from his team.

The football players returned to the field, and everyone cheered again. You felt Negan glancing at you as you both stood clapping and couldn't hold back a smile.

You sat back down. “Don't you think it's a little unethical?”

“Hot chocolate?” 

“Teaching them your moves, enlisting their help?”

“Lots of ‘em ask me advice on shit like dating. I could let them fumble around and fuck up a while, or I could give them a little guidance.” He waved his hand. “The guys feel like they know what they're doing, and their dates have a good time.”

“What about the part that comes after?”

“Well, I give them a few pointers here and there on how to play things out. Tell them to take their time, make sure she's into it and that she's feeling just as good before he sticks it--”

“I meant the relationship part,” you rushed to interrupt, “not the physical stuff.”

“I tell them they're on their own with that.” 

You couldn't help but wonder how many Negans and Chads were running around the school, breaking hearts. It left a sour taste in your mouth. You drank your last swallow of tepid chocolate. 

“They're not all like me,” he said quietly, seeming to read your thoughts. 

You turned to him, surprised at his tone.

“Some of them’ll do right by the ones they're with.”

For just a moment, you saw that same vulnerable look he'd worn in the car the other night. It made you wonder about his actual past relationships, the ones that had gone beyond a night or two of fun. A part of you wanted to ask if the rumors about his infidelity to his wife were true, but you were pretty sure you already knew the answer.

Negan confused you. You often compared him with Chad, your college mistake, but the truth was that Negan was a lot different from Chad. They were both total playboys, but Chad had never made his true intentions clear. He'd led you on, building up every interaction until you were willing to sleep with him. He'd told you that he was changing for you, but all he’d really ended up doing was breaking countless promises.

Negan, on the other hand, made sure everyone knew what he was about. He liked the chase but tried to avoid the broken hearts when possible. Even though you knew he still managed to hurt plenty of his conquests, they were at least aware of what they were getting into. If they chose to lead themselves on, believing they would be the one to change him from a philanderer to a one-woman man overnight, it was on them.

And though he tried to lead people to believe otherwise, Negan really did care about others. He might capitalize on his students, but they respected him and trusted him enough to come to him with their personal problems. They believed in him as a leader. He could just shrug them off like many other teachers did, but he chose not to. He almost seemed to take on a fatherly role with certain students. And there were times when his consideration had surprised you, like when he’d fixed the fridge and taken you home the other night. He drove you crazy half the time, but there were definitely worse men out there.

You reached out and put your hand on his wrist just below his jacket sleeve for a second. "It wouldn't be so bad if they were a little like you."

He looked down at your hand, and a small smile played over his lips. “Careful, Sugar. Wouldn't want to give a man the wrong idea.”

You pulled your hand away. Before you could respond, the team scored again, and everyone stood to cheer and watch the team try for an extra point.

Half an hour later, the wind had really picked up, and it had grown much cooler. You huddled as close to Negan as possible, trying not to seem too obvious. You reminded yourself that you were there for the kids. As if on cue, one of the band members from your third period caught your eye and waved. You waved back and smiled, giving the trumpet player a thumbs up.

As the third quarter ended, Tommy and Jessica came back over. "We're going to head out, Coach. Thanks for the blanket." He handed a folded flannel blanket to Negan.

“No problem. You kids be safe.”

Jessica smiled, bit her lip, and then looked away.

“Don't worry, Coach," Tommy said, "We will.”

You shook your head as they left. “You are incorrigible.” 

He laughed as he unfolded the blanket and draped it around your shoulders.

You were too grateful for the warmth to complain.

He smoothed the blanket down your back and then put his arm around your shoulders, leaning close. You tried to ignore how aware of him you were. He smelled good, the faint hint of musky cologne reaching your nose. His warmth radiated through the blanket and over your chilled skin. 

You watched the band play again, chanting the fight song at appropriate intervals. He gently tapped out the drumbeat on your shoulder. When the song was over, he kept his hand in place, drawing random shapes through the blanket with his fingertips and sending little sparks across your skin. He seemed unaware of the effect his touch had on you.

Somehow, in the weeks since Negan had started coming around, you had been able to keep yourself from being roped in. Of course, it had helped that he had never made any genuine advances on you. Since you'd known his usual intentions with women from the beginning, you had labeled him in your mind as Trouble and managed to keep him at a distance. But more and more, the lines you had drawn were starting to blur. And your attraction was becoming hard to deny.

You were a couple of minutes into the fourth quarter when he squeezed your shoulder gently. You turned to look at him, your faces just inches apart. His eyes were warm and inviting. You couldn't help but glance at his lips a couple of times. It was the perfect moment for a kiss. You were just about to lean in when he cleared his throat.

"Pretty effective, huh?" he asked, voice pitched low.

You stopped and studied his face. He looked serious except for the slightest upturn to the corner of his mouth. You thought about the blanket and his arm around you, and the image of Tommy and Jessica huddling together popped into your mind. Realization that he'd used another move on you dawned slowly. You'd been so chilled that you hadn’t even thought twice about accepting the blanket. He was playing with you. You leaned away from him, annoyed as much with yourself as you were with him. What had you been thinking?

“Don't be mad.” He squeezed your shoulder firmly to keep you in place, rubbing your upper arm when you stopped retreating. “I thought you wanted to see my moves.”

You bit your cheek. He had a point. You'd asked. Sort of. You just hadn’t expected to be taken in by them. You smiled in spite of yourself. “You're right. They're good moves. Too bad you don't have someone to use them on tonight.”

He leaned in closer. "Night's not over yet." He held your gaze for a moment, eyes growing darker, reminding you of the other night at the festival; this time, he was the one who glanced down at your mouth.

You swallowed. The crowd erupted into cheers again, the stands vibrating with their excitement. You and Negan didn’t move, and you struggled to tear yourself from his gaze. You knew that you should, that getting caught up in the moment wouldn't lead to anywhere good. But you couldn't. 

It was Negan who finally glanced away as the crowd settled back down. “Looks like we've got this shit in the bag. If we head out now, we can beat the rush.” 

You didn’t particularly want to leave right then, but you were tired of sitting, and it probably was a good idea to get a headstart out of there. Besides, you could use some space, and the chilly air would go a long way toward cooling down your physical reactions to Negan.

You nodded and stood up with him, taking his offered hand. You were glad you had ridden separately from Krys, having expected FireGlamour to take off anyway. It saved you from having to accept another ride home from Negan, one you wouldn’t be able to easily sleep your way through.

As he led you through the stands, you both took opportunities to say goodnights and farewells to various spectators who called to you or waved. The closer you got to the exit, the faster you both moved. Something about the air became charged, and you felt just a touch giddy, almost like you were high on caffeine and sugar.

Upon exiting the stands, you expected Negan to lead you out to the parking lot. Instead, he twined your fingers together and said, “I got something I want to show you.” 

The concession stands were situated beneath the outer side of the stadium. The aromas of pizza and fried food wafted your way. 

Negan pulled you into a corridor that led behind the stands. The muffled noise from the crowd and the announcer echoed around you. “In here,” he said, taking a left and pulling you toward the back wall. You passed a door labeled  _ Maintenance _ . Just as you were about to question him, the hall dead-ended, and he tugged your hand hard, pulling you into his body so that you were face to face, almost like he was bringing you in for a hug. As he fit you along his front, he started walking you backward until you felt your back press into the far wall.

“What are you doing?” 

“Showing you my pièce de résistance.”

An awkward laugh bubbled out of you. “Your what?”

He put a hand above your head on the wall and crowded his upper body down toward yours. He ran the index finger of his other hand from just below your ear down the line of your jaw. 

Your breath hitched, and you stared up at him, mesmerized. The mood shifted so fast that your senses went into overdrive. His musky scent was more concentrated in this small space, seeming to surround you. Despite the coolness of the concrete at your back, his body felt like it was burning everywhere it touched yours. Your body responded immediately, shifting closer to his.

He leaned his mouth close, warm breath puffing in your ear. “If I’m not sure by the end of the night that things are going my way, I find somewhere private and see how she responds.”

Your lips parted of their own volition, and you tried really hard not to wet them but failed. He watched. “What if she doesn’t?”

He searched your face for a moment while the unintelligible garbles of the announcer echoed through the concrete around you. “I make sure the offer is clear.” He tilted your chin up with one finger and closed the distance, leaving just a hairsbreadth between your mouths, lips ghosting over yours.

You knew you should stop him or push him away. But you couldn't seem to muster up the will. Your eyes fluttered closed. 

He ran the backs of his knuckles along the side of your cheek. “Some gals just need a little coaxing.” His facial hair tickled the skin around your mouth as he spoke. 

You leaned forward just enough to meet his lips for the briefest of seconds. And then the stadium began to thunder and shake above you. You sucked in a deep breath and blinked your eyes back open. 

Negan stepped away, and cool air rushed over your skin. “Sounds like we won,” he said, voice husky.

You nodded dumbly, not sure what had happened or why he’d backed off so abruptly. To hide your reaction, you reached to pick up the blanket, which had fallen to the floor at some point. “Yeah.” You sounded breathless even to your own ears. "We should probably get going."

He backed up and turned to the side, letting you pass him to head back out of the corridor. 

You were confused, not just by his actions but by your own. At some point, the game he was playing, the demonstration, had become real. And you had been a willing participant. If he hadn't backed off, you'd probably still be up against the corridor wall, making out. But he had.

“Normally,” he said, once you got to the parking lot, “I'd give my date a ride back to her place.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. “Do you want a ride, Sugar?” 

You knew he was offering more than a ride home, but you also knew what lay down that road. You were pretty confident he'd have better bedroom etiquette than Chad. As much experience as Negan had, he was probably better in bed than most of your former boyfriends. And it had been a while since anyone’s fingers but your own had touched you, as your body had just reminded you. 

But you were more concerned with the part that came after than he was, the heartache part. You'd never really been able to separate your heart from sex. And if you were honest, you'd kind of enjoyed having him around lately. Sex would change your tentative friendship, and then there'd be no going back.

“I should probably take my car home.”

“Probably the smart thing.”

You weren't so sure you agreed with his assessment. 

You kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Negan." You handed him the blanket and walked to your car quickly, clamping down on the urge to look back.

As you pulled out of the parking lot, you saw him standing in the same place with one hand in his pocket and the other holding the blanket, eyes tracking your car. 


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning found you lying face-up in your bed, tired eyes glazed and relaxed as your brain connected the dots to make shapes out of the popcorn ceiling. One area of the white, pebbled bumps bore a disturbing resemblance to Nicolas Cage snuggling with a tiger. Not hot  _ Con Air _ Nicolas Cage, but scary,  _ Mandy _ Nicolas Cage. You sighed. Obviously, your brain was desperate for caffeine.

Last night, you’d come home from the game, hoovered a chocolate bar, drained a glass of red wine, and taken a cool shower. When that didn’t take the edge off, you’d spent the night letting Mr. Happy remind you what it was like to be treated like a lady. Mr. Happy, of course, was your favorite vibrator. He knew all the right places to touch you to get the job done. And last night, he’d given it his all and had done an adequate job. 

The problem was, Mr. Happy just didn’t have the touch, weight, or smell of a real man, and you’d had a real, willing man right in front of you, nearly on you, just a few hours before. You’d spent the night reliving the game and your interactions there with Negan. Several scenarios had played out in your mind, most of which usually ended with you accepting his offer and getting your world rocked, right there underneath the high school football stadium. In one particularly steamy fantasy, he had brought you home, found Mr. Happy, and the two had tag-teamed you through the night.

You probably wouldn’t be able to look Negan in the eye for at least a month.

You spent another five minutes in bed waffling between feeling sorry for yourself and remembering all the reasons why you’d refused his offer before finally forcing yourself to get up, shower, and get dressed.

In return for the farm hosting the festival, the school provided student volunteer groups for farm maintenance and chores. This meant that teachers and staff members were needed to supervise those students on the weekends. Since you’d managed to provide the food, you’d weaseled out of said volunteer service. At least you thought you had until you inadvertently crossed Lexi. 

On the Tuesday afternoon after the festival, Principal Johnson had shown up at your classroom, wearing a salmon colored dress shirt beneath a tan suit that was tapered to his massive frame. He’d given you a wide, easy grin. “I heard the baked good donations alone raised over a thousand dollars for charity.”

You’d been setting up some of the workspaces for the next day when he came in. Space was at a premium in your classroom, and the less moving around your students had to do, the safer it was for everyone involved. “That’s great news.”

“And congratulations on winning the Pumpkin Smash. Have to admit, my pride took a hit when they told me Negan broke my record.”

“At least there’s next year.”

He nodded, turning to lean back in the frame of the door, arms crossed over his chest. “Next year, I’ll make sure to get the first choice of pickers and work out a game plan." He winked. "By the way, I saw you're signed up to supervise the volunteer group at the farm this week."

This was news to you. You looked up, surprised. “Uhh…” you were about to tell him you thought it was a mistake when your fridge made a loud, internal bang. Oh no, this was it. This was the big one. 

You went to check on it, but the motor just continued putter along, a loud trilling sound now interrupting the usual hum every few seconds. Well, that would take some getting used to. You would definitely have to let the students play music tomorrow. 

“That thing is starting to sound pretty busted up. Might be time to check the budget, see if we can upgrade it or at least get maintenance out here.”

You stopped just short of cleaning out your ears. Was this a dream? Should you pinch yourself? Had Principal Johnson actually suggested he would do something about your refrigerator? “Yeah,” you said tentatively, trying not to scare him off. “That would be really great.”

“I'll take a look at things tomorrow.” 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Lexi popped up behind him. She was in an ivory suit that looked like it cost more than your monthly rent, impossibly high heels, and had her hair pulled back in a complicated-looking twist. “There you are, Ray.” Wow. The last bell of the day had only rung a bit ago. Just long enough for students to have emptied out of your wing of the building, and it was already Ray? “I found those papers you needed to sign. I left them on your desk.”

He looked down at her. “Thanks. I'll take care of them.”

She smiled and laid her hand along his upper arm, squeezing his sizable bicep. “If you could get to it before you leave so I can scan it over to the district office, that would be great. You know Velma over there likes to have all paperwork in early.”

“You got it.” He looked back up at you. “Thanks again for showing so much community spirit. I'll see you around.” He smiled, and then he was gone.

“Lexi,” you caught her before she could walk off. “Why does Principal Johnson think I'm supervising the farm volunteers this week?”

“Because your name is on the sign up sheet, sweetie,” she said in a way that was very unsweet. “In fact, I noticed you'd signed up for every Saturday until Thanksgiving. Way to show that  _ community spirit _ .” Her mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. “Maybe now that your Saturdays are all full, you won’t feel the need to interfere with other people’s plans.”

Other people’s plans? Was she seriously still pissed about the festival?

Before you could ask what her problem was, she said, “Have fun shovelling shit,” and flounced off.

You thought about following her, about confronting her and telling Johnson the crap she was pulling. But Johnson had been impressed with you, and he’d lit a small glimmer of hope that he would deal with the fridge. The possibility was enough for you to let Lexi have this round. You’d find some way to put her in her place later.

And that was how you ended up raking leaves on a farm at nine in the morning the Saturday after the game. 

You were with a small group of kids. Yousef was one of them, having been assigned community service because of the fight. Even though he hadn’t instigated the fight, since he'd fought back at a school-sponsored event, they still had to follow the Zero Tolerance policy. He was a little banged up, but the kids at your school had really rallied behind him, and he now had several dozen more friends than before the festival. So far, it seemed like the community service was a good experience for him. 

You didn’t know what had happened to the bullies since they went to a different school, but Johnson was supposed to follow up on it. You hoped they at least got house arrest for a couple of months. 

You continued to scrape your leaves and dug the rake down into the dirt too hard. It wedged itself under a vine buried just under the ground, forcing you to bend down to pull it loose.

“Don’t suppose those polka dots are making another appearance today.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. No way. Whipping your head around, you found Negan grinning down at you, a pair Aviators covering his eyes. You scrambled to your feet, thankful you’d gone with jeans and boots today. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought you breakfast.”

“You brought me breakfast?” you repeated. 

“A chocolate croissant,” he said, presenting a bakery bag with a flourish. “And coffee.” In his other hand, he balanced two coffee cups by snuggly holding their bottoms, not gas station coffee, which was the only to-go coffee in your budget, but the stuff in tall, white paper cups, like the one he’d left for you on Monday morning. 

You took one and glanced at the scrawl on the side:  _ Vanilla Latte, Extra Hot, for Asshole _ . “Let me guess. You slept with the barista?”

He smirked shamelessly and sat down on a haystack, motioning for you to join him. 

Because you’d finally learned your lesson about physical proximity with Negan, you did not. “Did you watch her make this?” You opened the top and looked for obvious signs of spit in the foam.

“She just took the order. One of my players made it. He didn’t fuck it up.” He took a long drink, then stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. He wore a grey Henley and a nice pair of dark jeans that didn't belong on a farm.

As you leaned against the rake, you took a tentative sip. You wouldn’t have necessarily ordered a vanilla latte for yourself, but you certainly weren't going to turn it down. The foam was still warm, and the coffee smelled rich and dark and didn't taste too sweet. You loved the silky texture of good lattes. “Thanks,” you told him before replacing the top and drinking through the spout. Out of the corner of your eye, you could tell he was watching you.

“Croissant? It’s still warm.” He opened the bag and tilted it toward you.

Your stomach growled. You hadn’t had time for breakfast or caffeine this morning. It was a nice gesture. You walked to the tool shed nearby and leaned the rake against it before stepping back over to Negan. Without meeting his eyes, you reached out for the pastry bag.

You saw him duck his head, trying to catch your eyes, but you twisted your head to look back at the kids, who were collecting various greens from the garden. A couple of them glanced at Negan, but for the most part, they just squatted, talked, and appeared to work. When you looked back, he had pulled the bag back toward himself, and you could tell he was watching you closely. You took a step closer and tried to reach the bag, only to have him pull it out of reach again as you angled yourself sideways.

“Sit down.”

“I can’t sit down. It’ll set a bad example for the kids.”

“They aren’t paying us a lick of attention. Most of them are taking selfies or trying to get into each other’s pants.” He tugged on your arm to pull you down beside him. You were glad you'd put the top back on your cup. “Let’s talk about last night.”

“Let’s not.”

“You can’t even look me in the eye. We’re fucking talking.”

“I can so look you in the eye.” You made a show of doing just that, forcing your expression to go completely blank. Your own face was reflected at you in his shades, which you were thankful for because you weren't sure you could handle looking in his eyes right then. You weren't going to show him that you'd spent the night thinking of him, of his big, warm hands, his body over you, lips on you, tongue and fingers exploring every part of you. Nothing was going to give away the multiple orgasms you'd had as fantasy after fantasy played in your mind or the fact that you'd come with his name on your lips. 

You felt warmth washing over you, and you dropped your eyes and grabbed the bag that he'd set between you before pulling out one of the croissants. “See?” you told him. You took a bite and watched the kids, who were, indeed, ignoring you. The croissant wasn't freshly baked, but it was warm, buttery, and a little flakey. The chocolate was semi-sweet, almost dark, and had a nice flavor. There just wasn't enough of it.

You could feel his eyes on you but pretended to ignore him. He pulled off his sunglasses and wrangled his croissant from the bag before taking a bite. “You don't have to be ashamed, you know.”

You froze mid-chew. There was no way he could know, right? About the sex fantasies. He wasn't  _ that  _ in tune with the female libido. That awful blush was creeping up on you, and you found yourself wishing you'd brought a huge pair of shades yourself or at least a sun hat so it wouldn't be so obvious. You forced yourself to swallow and took a drink of your latte. Then you turned your head away a bit more, pretending to take great interest in the students. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Look at you playing up the coy act. That’s some real cute shit, Sugar. A little off-brand for you, but still cute.”

You cut your eyes at him. “I am not playing coy, and I am not ashamed.”

He grinned, eyes twinkling back at you. “Come on, admit it. You were putty in my fucking hands last night.” 

You blinked, and the pieces clicked into place. He could not, in fact, read your mind and didn't know about your dirty little fantasies. He was just being his usual, cocky self. You narrowed your eyes. “I already admitted that your moves were effective, but if I'd been putty in your hands last night, the night probably would've ended differently, don't you think?” 

“You saying you didn't want it to? You seemed pretty fucking into it to me. I probably could've had my way with you right there.”

“Who still says ‘had my way with you?’”

He leaned in and pitched his voice low. “Would you rather me say I could've fucked you right then and there?” 

Your eyes widened at the suggestion and the jolt of heat that thrummed through your body. Fantasy Negan had had a real penchant for dirty-talking. You bit your lip and jerked your head to the kids. Most had earbuds if they weren't conversing, but that didn't mean they weren't eavesdropping. You whispered, “This is not the time or place for this conversation. What are you even doing here?” Coaches were exempt from volunteer duty because they already did a fair amount of fundraising. He glanced at the croissant in your hand. “Besides breakfast.” 

“Ms. Mildred heard Lexi bragging about sticking it to you with the volunteer shit.” 

Ugh, more lounge gossip about you? Great. You hardly even went in there for that exact reason. “That still doesn't explain why you're here.” 

“Figured it was the least I could do since I'm probably the reason she's fucking with you. She was pretty pissed when I ditched her because of the fight on Saturday.” As he finished his food, he made a big show of licking the melted chocolate from his thumb and forefinger. You tried not to watch.

“You ditched her?” 

“Yeah, told her we needed to get in there with the calvary, and she flipped her shit. Gave me the what-for about asking her out and not paying her enough attention.” He rubbed his hand over the scruff around his jawline. “I mean, what the fuck did she expect me to do?”

Apparently she was used to snapping and having people jump to grant her wishes, as evidenced by her exchange with Johnson. “And now she's screwing with me to get back at you?”

He shrugged, taking another long drink from his cup. “Like I know how the fuck the female mind works.”

“Right, and men  _ always _ have logical reasons for their thoughts and actions.” 

“Damn straight.”

You swatted his upper arm, but he just grinned in response. You heard a distant giggle and shot your eyes to the students. Two girls were glancing your way and whispering to each other. Negan noticed too and waggled his eyebrows at them, leaning closer to you. Wanting to avoid another CoachSugar photo op, you stood and finished your croissant before working on the latte in earnest.

You felt Negan's eyes still watching. After a minute, he said, “I've got Shakespeare tickets.”

You didn't really know what to do with that. “Okay?” You turned back to partially face him.

“I was planning to take Gwyn, but she begged off last night when she cut out on me. You want to go?”

“Tonight?”

He nodded.

“I have plans.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “What plans?”

Rude. You had a life. “My friends are having a dinner party.” 

“What time's dinner?”

“Six.”

“Great. The play starts at eight. We can do both.” He drained the rest of his coffee.

“You can't just invite yourself to someone else's dinner party.”

He blinked slowly, a look that communicated something in between "your words do not compute" and "watch me." “Let me see your phone.”

“No.”

“Are there going to be other couples at this party?” He stood and stepped closer.

“Well, yeah.”

“And were you told you could bring a date?”

“I was, but--”

He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a date?”

You did not. The look on your face obviously spoke for itself.

He put his hand out. “Unlock your phone, and let me see it.” 

You knew what he was after. He was going to call your friend Shelley, who was hosting the party, and try to secure himself an invite. What he didn't know was that Shelley was extremely type-A when it came to home entertaining. You had told her a week ago that it would only be you, had confirmed it a second time when she'd texted yesterday morning. There was no way she was going to say “yes.” Her friend Chelsea had stopped speaking to her for months because Shelley refused to let her bring a last minute date sometime over the summer. You opened your phone and handed it off, trying your best to hold it just by the corner so as to avoid touching him. 

His fingers slid over your wrist and down your palm, eyes staring into yours, obviously testing you. You pulled away as soon as the phone was securely in his hand. His eyes mocked your skittishness. "What's her name?"

You told him her name and watched him select the contact, hoping Shelley wouldn't pick up. “Has it even occurred to you that maybe I don't want to go to Shakespeare?” 

He put the phone to his ear. “‘Course you want to go. It's  _ Twelfth Night _ .” You were about to respond when he put up his free hand and purred into the phone, “Hey there, is this Shelley?”

You couldn't hear what Shelley's response was but assumed she must have asked about you because his next words were, “Yes, she is just fine. This is Negan, and I'm with her right now.” He waited a beat for her reply. “Yes,  _ that _ Negan.” He covered the phone and smirked at you. “I didn't know you were telling your friends about me, sweetheart. That's real cute.” He winked.

You groaned. You had told Shelley about your strange arrangement with him. As a stay at home wife, she'd found the idea of you baking sweets for a "lech" (her word) scandalous.

“I do know Brady,” he said into the phone, “I've been keeping an eye on him. Damn fine player.” Brady was her nephew who had just started at the school as a freshman and was on the junior varsity baseball team. “Listen, Shelley, I won't hold you up. Sugar here mentioned that you're throwing one helluva dinner party tonight. Think you might have room for one more?”

You prayed she would refuse him and spare your sanity.

Negan's slow smile was answer enough. “I can't wait. Here she is.” He reached the phone to you, unfazed by your glare. “She wants to talk to you.”

You took it back, managing to avoid touching him this time. “Hi, Shelley,” you said.

“Oh my God, was that really him? He doesn't sound at all like you described. He's so charming!” You had to hold the phone away from your ear as she continued to gush. 

“Yeah, he sure is something,” you said, looking him in the eyes. 

“I can't wait to meet him. It's going to be like we have a real celebrity coming to the house.” She gasped. “Does he have any allergies? I can't believe I didn't ask. He must think me so rude.”

“He doesn't have any allergies, and he doesn't think you're rude for not asking.”

Negan watched, amused.

Shelley went on for another minute about how excited she was as well as adjustments she would need to make to the menu, decor, and seating arrangements. You tried to break in and tell her she didn't have to go to any trouble, and really, she could just revoke the invitation, but you weren't able to get a word in. Abruptly, she said, “So much to do! Must go!” and hung up.

You stared at your phone for several seconds, trying to process what had just happened. Somehow, Negan had just wormed his way into dinner with your friends. Not just with any friends, but specifically with Shelley, who would rather sacrifice a friendship than change plans at the last second. And apparently, he had an extra ticket to  _ Twelfth Night _ . You did enjoy the Bard's comedies, and you'd heard the company putting it on in town was pretty good.

“Where does Shelley live?”

You had met Shelley when you worked at the other high school. She had been a neighbor, and you'd stayed close. “Cedar Springs.”

“So I'll pick you up around 5:30?”

Wait a minute. Pick you up? At your place? Like a date? “Uhh, I guess?” You heard yourself reply. It did make sense to ride together. 

“I'll be there.” He leaned in and said lowly, “By the way, been wanting to ask all morning,” he was close enough that his warm breaths puffed against your temple. “Did you have a bunch of triple X fantasies last night too?” You felt the heat coming back into your cheeks and broke eye contact. His mouth was almost at eye level, and you watched as another toothy grin broke over his face as he took in your response. “My dick hasn't been manhandled like that in years.” 

You blinked a couple of times, wrapping your head around that. “TMI, Negan.”

“Really? I’d love to hear what your fingers got up to last night, in excruciating detail.”

You rolled your eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

He watched you for a minute and then nodded slowly before brushing a kiss over your cheek. His warm lips were there and then gone, the only evidence being the slight sting from his scruff. “Maybe tonight you can show me  _ your _ moves since I showed you mine.” He ran the tips of his fingers down your spine and then pulled away before he grabbed the latte from your hand and finished it off. “See you later.” He strode across the field, toward the parking area, where you assumed his car was.

You dropped back down on the haystack, trying to figure out what the Hell had just happened. Your phone dinged, and you opened it to see that the school's 'ship Instagram, which you'd decided to follow last night, had updated with a new picture tagged CoachSugar. The image had been taken moments before, when Negan had leaned in and whispered how he'd spent his night. It mostly showed your back, but you could also see a small strip of your face, color high in your cheeks. You hadn't been aware that you'd bitten your bottom lip, but apparently that had happened. Negan's eyes were focused on you, warm, open, and dark, looking very satisfied with himself. 

You turned to the two girls from earlier and glared. They looked up at you and burst into a fresh set of giggles. 

Great.


	9. Chapter 9

“Look at me,” you said sternly. “Look me in the eye.” You waited patiently for your cat to make eye contact. When she didn’t, you grabbed her favorite toy and held it up above your head, making the little black and purple bats dance around in the air until she finally looked in the general direction of your eyes. “You are not to fall for Negan.” 

She stuck her nose in the air and turned away from you.

You dropped the toy, pulled her into your arms, and started scratching under her chin. “I know how you operate, loving on any man who steps across the threshold.” She closed her eyes in ecstasy when you hit the right spot, her whiskers pushing forward. You booped her snoot. She finally met your eyes, annoyed the scratches had ceased. “Not this one. He’s  _ Trouble _ .” Knowing she was a wise and intuitive being, you assumed that she would be able to infer the capital T. 

Sitting primly, she stared for a minute before hopping down from your lap and walking over to her food bowl to remind you that despite the kibbles piled up around the edges of the bowl, she could see the bottom, and thus, you were a neglectful provider. 

You got up from the couch and rattled the bowl with your foot so that the food covered the center again.

Though she gave you a look that said she wasn’t so easily fooled, Kitty dug her face in for a dainty bite nonetheless.

You weren't entirely sure Negan would come inside, but you figured you should be prepared, just in case. Your duplex was a lost cause. It was semi-clean, at least the kitchen was, and your unmentionables weren't littering the floor.

You were about as ready for this outing with Negan (you refused to call it an actual date) as you’d ever be. Shelley threw her dinner parties about every other month, and although she didn’t require people to dress up, she certainly preferred it. She was all about “creating a moment.” 

Originally, you had planned to wear one of your nicer dresses. However, it had a short split along the left thigh, and you thought that was begging for too much attention from a certain someone who didn't know how to keep his hands to himself. Then you’d locked it down by pulling on light blue Mom jeans, the ones you usually saved for when you were particularly bloated, and a fuzzy grey turtleneck. You quickly decided that the outfit was overkill; you weren’t going out with a vampire, and for some reason, you weren’t entirely sure the coverage would discourage Negan. Next, you chose black slacks and a nice blouse. The blouse was cute and flowy but was just one step away from sheer and was also bedecked with polka dots, so it was definitely out; besides, the ensemble was more suited for a job interview than dinner with friends. Finally, you’d resorted to a different dress, one with a flared skirt that danced around your knees. It was neither seductive nor frumpy; an extreme in either direction would have led to a night of teasing. Some of that teasing might actually be pleasurable, but that was the kind that you found particularly worrisome.

You had already texted Shelley twice to "make sure" it was okay for Negan to join the dinner. Shelley had responded that she couldn't be more delighted to have him and then noted that she was glad she'd gotten her hair and nails done the day before. So she was going to be no help in your attempts to weasel out of the night. 

You reminded yourself for the umpteenth time that you were  _ JUST FRIENDS _ ...sort of, regardless of a couple of steamy encounters. The ones from last night at the football game had just been him showing off and capitalizing on the opportunity. You figured that since Gwyn had ditched him, he'd decided to amuse himself by putting his moves on you, which was probably why he'd ultimately backed off. His attempts obviously weren't sincere. As for this morning at the farm, you knew good and well that nothing gave Negan more pleasure than getting a rise out of you. So despite the unexpected addition to the dinner table and your plans for the night, you were set on having a chill evening with friends.

All in all, you thought the reasoning was fairly sound. You had already repeated it to yourself, both in your head and aloud half a dozen times, and each time, you were more convinced. In fact, when your doorbell rang a few minutes after five, you repeated it again, just for good measure. 

You opened the door to find Negan leaning against the doorframe as though posed there by a female movie director. He was wearing dark jeans and an open black sports jacket. Beneath the jacket was a dark plum dress shirt with a few buttons near the collar undone. Shelley would not be disappointed. Consequently, neither were you.

“Wow. A sports jacket? Pretty impressive.” 

He winked. “I know what the ladies like.” 

You avoided giving into an eyeroll. It was too early in the evening. “Let me grab my coat.” You had learned your lesson from the night before.

“Mind if I come in?”

You did. You were still hoping to avoid that. “I'll just be a second.”

It was that exact moment that Kitty chose to wrap herself around your legs. She looked up at Negan. You couldn’t see the look she gave him, but you had a pretty good idea of what she was after. She hadn’t paid one bit of attention to your lecture. She padded out to the porch, circled Negan's ankles, and then stood on her hind legs and rubbed her face against his calf. 

A surprised noise rumbled from his chest, and he knelt down to pet her. "Hello, beautiful.”

She suckered him into a soul gaze, eyes searching and evaluating his mettle. You had been lost in those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes many a time--the cat’s, not Negan’s. Apparently satisfied with her findings, Kitty turned and swished back inside past you, throwing her head over her shoulder to see whether or not he was following.

You glanced back down to where he was still kneeling on the porch to see if he'd fallen for her charms, surprised to find his attention on you. 

He let his eyes travel slowly up the length of your body before meeting your eyes again. “I am very much into this dress.” He stood and leaned in. “Though I would very much like to get you out of it.” 

The comment may have been a bit corny, but that didn't stop your body from letting you know that it, too, was interested in what might happen if you ditched the dress 

Normally, his flirtations were accompanied by a twinkle in his eye, a slight upturn to the corner of his mouth, or maybe even a raised eyebrow. At the moment, he was looking at you straight on, eyes dark and hooded, one step away from bedroom eyes.

You weren't sure you were equipped to handle bedroom eyes right then, or maybe ever when it came to Negan.

Kitty meowed wantonly. When you turned to check on her, she was rolling around on the couch cushions, paws and belly in the air as she made doe eyes at Negan. 

“We have a few minutes,” the object of her affection said. “Looks like someone wants to visit.”

You sighed and stepped back out of the way so that he could enter.

He managed to walk past you without grazing his arm or hand over your body, which was no doubt a feat for him. But he was still close enough that your skirt swished in his wake.

The cat hopped up on the arm of the couch and waited patiently. Ugh. You should’ve gone with a dog instead, but the stray had adopted you. The cat, not Negan.

“Have a seat,” you said before closing the door. 

Negan made himself at home, selecting the middle seat of the couch and letting his knees fall open. Kitty immediately went to him, making biscuits on his thigh and purring like a V8. He obliged her with full body pets that only made her purr louder. 

You joined him in the living room but sat on the chair beside the couch. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but you didn’t have to share it with a hot and handsy man, so you would just have to deal with it.

Kitty cracked her eyes open and gazed at you, alleging that you were truly missing out. You just weren't sure if she meant you were missing out on his attention or her affection. She spilled herself across his lap and rolled onto her side to face him.

“So, any weirdos in this friend group I should know about?” Honestly, he ought to be teaching political correctness rather than P.E. He obviously excelled at it.

“They're all weirdos. You'll fit right in.”

“All teachers?” 

“Nope.”

“Good. So are we going to talk about this tension?” He made a gesture between the two of you.

You thought about playing coy, but he'd called you on it earlier when you hadn't even been doing so. “You mean the manufactured tension?” 

He stopped petting the cat. “Manufactured?”

Kitty looked up at him, betrayed. Then she rolled onto her back, arching her belly toward his hand.

You watched her display with no small amount of envy. Being permitted to pet a warm kitty belly was an honor, one which you were rarely bestowed. As he sank his long fingers into the downy fur covering her tummy, you looked back up at his face. Now who was playing coy? “The so-called tension is all just from you showing off.”

“Is that right?” He stroked from your cat's belly up to her chest, and she wrapped her paws around his wrist playfully, looking up at him with complete adoration and trust, despite the fact that his strong hand could so easily crush her throat. “You’re saying you don't feel anything when I look at you?”

You shrugged. “Depends on the look.” He didn’t need to know what those almost-bedroom eyes had nearly done to you. You thought about what he said for a second. “Does that mean you feel things when I look at you?”

He ran the tip of his tongue across the edge of his top teeth, head bobbing in a vague nod. “Not a thing.” His eyes told a different story as they raked across you, trying to stoke a fire.

You tilted your knees to the side and uncrossed and recrossed your ankles. “Well, glad that's settled,” you said, trying to ignore the heady sense of expectation that had filled the room. Sometimes, it was like he was a freaking incubus or something. He just looked at you and turned the heat up ten degrees, seemingly on a whim. He knew the looks affected you. You knew they affected you. Admitting as much aloud to him? That would be tantamount to surrender. 

Kitty craned her neck back as he moved his fingers closer to her chin, lighting over her throat. She blinked owlishly at you.

_ Brazen hussy _ , you accused her with your eyes.

_ Jealous prude _ , her feline eyes taunted back before she closed them again and melted across Negan's thighs in ecstasy. 

“What was his name?”

“Whose?”

“The guy who hurt you.”

“You think there's only one?”

“I don’t think you’re the kind of woman who lets herself make the same mistake twice.”

If that were the case, you wouldn't be sitting here with him right now. “Chad.”

“Sounds like a douchebag.” 

“He was. Like, in retrospect, one of the douchiest. I used to have terrible taste in guys.”

“And it's improved?”

“I like to think so.” You had still dated plenty of guys who had turned out to be assholes. Some of them just couldn’t help themselves, and it wasn’t like you were perfect anyway. Other relationships had ended amicably, so you hadn’t yet written off all men.

“What about that asshole the other night?”

Ah, Jonah. “What about him?”

“He your type now?”

You still didn't know. He had texted earlier, asking if you’d made a decision on the haunted trail. You’d been scrambling between cleaning up after volunteering, getting ready for the night, and doing a few chores around your place, too busy to reply. But you needed to soon. “He's a maybe.” 

“It's Saturday night. If he's a maybe, why isn't he the one taking you to dinner?”

“He's a fireman. He's got work.” You didn’t know this for sure, but you were just barely edging on a lie. You might've asked Jonah, if you'd thought about it and if Shelley didn't require RSVPs so far in advance.

“So you asked him?”

Ugh, why did you tolerate this man? “No, I didn't ask him.”

“And do you have plans with him in the future?”

“My, you're awful nosey about my dating life. Perhaps I should be asking about yours.”

You realized the crap you’d just stepped in the moment he sent you one of his grins. “I'm an open book, sweetheart. Ask away.”

“Who's the target this coming weekend?” You might as well find out now. You would have to try to guess a baked good that she would like anyway. It was the last of the ones you owed Negan for the coolers.

“That's a good question.” He reached into his pocket, careful not to jostle Kitty too much. Then he swiped through a few screens. Wow. He had so many he couldn't even keep up with when he was taking them out? He frowned as he looked at the screen, thumb pausing. “Halloween weekend,” he said softly, more to himself than to you. For a minute, he zoned out. You were just about to prompt him when he cleared his throat and said, “No one.” 

No one? That didn't sound right. “Big Halloween plans?”

“Just sitting around in my boxers, watching stupid, scary shit.” He kept his eyes down.

“That's it? No party? No waiting in your bushes and jumping out at carefree trick-r-treaters?”

“Not really my thing.”

Huh. The withdrawal was uncharacteristic to say the least. You'd been sure he'd have a date or two lined up as usual, or at the very least, plan to go to a few parties where he could score with the half-drunk and half-dressed women that often crowded Halloween parties. 

“You about ready?” He carefully set Kitty to the side. 

She'd fallen asleep and took umbrage with the sudden upset. She gave you a dirty look as though you were the one to blame.

You stood up with him. “Negan…?”

When he met your eyes again, he lifted one corner of his mouth. “What is it, Sugar?”

You wanted to ask if there was something more significant about Halloween, why he, of all people, would spend it sitting at home alone when he could barely sit still in any other circumstance. But it seemed like when it came to this, he was not an open book. Maybe he really was an alpha wolf who needed to fulfill the urge to howl at the moon on Halloween. 

You happened to notice that his black jacket was covered in cat hair. You were pretty sure it hadn't been when he'd come in. Knowing he was still waiting on you to finish what you'd begun to say, you told him, “You uhh, have fur all over you.”

He looked down and took in the cat hair that covered the front of his jacket. There was probably a decent amount on the back, too. You didn't do a lot of couch vacuuming. You saw the mischief in his eyes a moment before he spoke. “It's just a little pussy fur. Nothing I’m not accustomed to.” He bit his lip, waiting for your response. 

Ugh. You rolled your eyes. Damn, you'd really wanted to make him work for that one. “I'll get the lint roller.”

“I think a little fur will be fine,” he said.

“You haven't met Shelley. Cat fur at the dinner table? She'll flip.”

“I don't know about that. I think she likes me.”

He wasn't wrong. Still, you grabbed the roller from the drawer of the end table and handed it to him.

He quickly defurred himself. Your skin prickled, like you were watching an episode of  _ The Twilight Zone _ . Domestic Negan just didn't seem right. It was almost like he could pass for a gentleman. If only he could restrain himself from comments like "pussy fur" and keep his dick in his pants. Of course, you weren't sure Negan would be Negan without the trash mouth and roving hands.

“Better?” He asked.

“Turn around. I'll get your back.” 

“I like it when you order me around.” 

You sighed impatiently and snatched the roller from his hand.

He smirked and turned. There really wasn't much fur on his back, and Shelley may not have even noticed it. But he had gone to the trouble of dressing up. Might as well make him look as good as possible. It was at that moment that it occurred to you that you were taking a man as good-looking as Negan to dinner with friends. The last guy you had brought to one of Shelley’s dinners had been the automotive guy. It had not gone well; they had quickly seen that the two of you weren’t suited, which they only told you months after the fact. 

You hadn’t bothered bringing any dates in the last few months, and they weren’t used to seeing you with a man, definitely not a man like Negan. It was going to be a long night.

You finished rolling his jacket and leaned to the side to put the roller on the end table. When you straightened, he had already turned around and was one step too close. You tried to step away, but he snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you into his body. You steadied yourself by putting your hands on his shoulders. 

“Why don't you lay one on me?” 

“What?”

He tilted his head down, like this morning, eyes staring down into yours, his hand brushing a lazy circle over your lower back. “There's no tension, right? Nothing building between us.” He ran the index finger of his other hand down your upper arm. “You could put me in my fucking place right now with just a kiss.” 

“How's a kiss supposed to do that?”

He looked at your lips. “Hard to fake real chemistry. So, kiss me. Prove me wrong.”

He came just short of saying  _ I dare you _ . You knew he was goading you. Unfortunately, it was working. You really wanted to wipe that smug look off his face and make sure he understood there was nothing between you. “We're friends.” Sort of.

“What's a kiss between two friends?”

It was such a line. “I don't go around kissing mine.”

“Neither do I.” He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. You hadn’t been expecting the touch and leaned in before you could stop yourself, eyes almost closing. You forced them open all the way to find that he'd leaned in just a hair closer. The bedroom eyes hit you full force. A spark zinged between your legs. Oh, shit.

“Kiss me anyway.”

You did.

It was supposed to be a normal, chaste kiss. A peck, something between sort of friends. You probably should have known better than to expect that with Negan. He tried to take over immediately, opening his mouth over yours and licking across your lips. It was wet and hard and fast, intended to break down the bedroom door rather than just test the waters. Your lady parts took immediate interest, signaling that they were firmly on board with the direction this was headed.

You put your hand against his scruffy cheek and held him there for a moment, pulling your lips back. “Slow down,” you told him softly. You felt the smile that pulled at his cheek, which was still cradled in your hand. You brushed your lips over his again, before pressing closer. 

He responded after a moment, gentler this time, almost sweet with just a hint of the danger that always seemed to simmer around him. It wasn't the hungry exploration from a minute before but instead an earnest quest, like he was trying to figure out how to please you. He let you set a slow, easy pace, surprising you when he didn't try to retake control. His mouth was warm, gentle, and inviting, every bit as disarming as his usual charm.

Negan kissing dirty was a foregone conclusion. Negan kissing sweet was another animal altogether. You weren't sure what to make of it. But you liked it. Probably too much. 

_ Definitely  _ too much.

Finally, you pulled back.

“Well?”

You took a minute to fight down the heat that had started rushing over you. “Not bad. You seem a little out of practice though.”

He leaned back, arm still around your waist. “Out of practice?” he echoed.

“Yeah, I’m guessing you and your dates don’t usually do much kissing.”

“We do a lot of things. Want the fucking nitty-gritty?”

You’d pissed him off a little, thrown him slightly off his game by not admitting he was a good kisser. One point in your column. “No. It’s just a general observation. Your kissing could use some work.”

“How about we have a little practice session now?”

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

“Not what I asked.”

This time, he kissed you.

You'd been prepared for the first kiss, the build up having offered you plenty of warning. But he'd caught you off guard with this one. The surprise made it that much hotter. You gasped, giving him a chance to flick his silky tongue across your open lips, a there and gone sensation, just enough to make you want more, to make you wish you hadn't made him slow down earlier. The action wet both your lips and his, making it easier for his mouth to slide across yours in a demanding caress.

You felt his warm, rough hand cradle your jaw before slipping back and down, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind your ear while his fingertips skimmed over the sensitive baby hairs at the back of your neck. Tingles broke out all over your skin, rushing to your head and then down your spine. 

You arched into him and wrapped one hand behind his neck, sliding up until it sank into the hair at the back of his head. His hair was as thick and luscious as you'd imagined, and you took great pleasure in carding your fingers through it.

He groaned. The sound loud and low, like it wasn’t a touch that he was used to. The idea that maybe he didn't spend much time kissing his dates, after all, that maybe he actually wasn't used to this kind of touch, turned you on. That's when you heard yourself moan in response. His hand at your back urged you closer, and you felt his knee nudge its way between your thighs. 

The rough drag of his jeans against the bare skin of your inner thighs finally broke through the fog that had enshrouded you. You went still, slowly pulling your hands away. 

He stepped back slowly, and you blinked up at him, taking pleasure in the fact that he was breathing as hard as you. His dark eyes searched your face. “Still not feeling any heat?”

You could feel that your lips were swollen, knew that the lust you saw right then in his eyes was mirrored in your own. “Just because it’s there,” you said after a minute, “doesn’t mean you should take advantage of it.”

His eyes searched yours for several beats. Eventually, he nodded and then released you. “So, do I at least get a progress report on my kissing technique?” 

You forced yourself to breathe deeply and to take another step back. As you considered him, you tapped your fingertips across your lips, which were still stinging from his beard. “Negan gives it his all but needs to work on his observational skills and learn to be a better team player.” The levity helped clear the tension, and your body finally started settling down.

His eyes widened, and a grin broke over his face. “Sugar, you are Trouble.”

“Did you just Capital T me?”

He laughed. “Come on. We'd better get our asses in gear before your friend Shelley flips her shit.”

He was not wrong, about Shelley or the tension between you as it turned out. For the sake of your sanity, you should probably avoid repeat performances of kissing Negan. Your lady parts disagreed wholeheartedly.


	10. Chapter 10

If you were in the habit of handing out unsolicited life advice, you would suggest that if one isn't planning to give into a man's seduction attempts, they should avoid kissing that man just before being trapped in a confined space with him. Unfortunately, it was too late to take your own advice. Kissing Negan had done nothing but stoke a growing flame. As a result, you found it that much harder to continue to reason yourself out of his bed. It was a good thing you had a busy night ahead of you.

On the whole, the half hour drive to Shelley's was rather uneventful. Negan put on some decades station that played a crazy mix of music. One minute it was Johnny Cash, and the next, it was Kesha. He sang along with about half of what played, hands tapping out the beat on the steering wheel or on the armrest. 

Every so often, he would allow his right hand to drift just past the armrest as though he intended to reach for you. You would watch it with no small amount of trepidation, trying to decide if you would have to swat his hand away or otherwise reprove him, or worse, let him. But every time, he just slid his hand back away, the usual grin playing at his mouth.

“How d’you know Shelley anyway?” he asked after his latest taunting reach.

“Some friends and I used to rent a house just down the block from her.”

“These parties a regular thing?”

“I think she actually has one almost every other weekend, but she doesn’t invite me to all of them, thank God. She keeps family and her husband’s work friends separate from the rest of us, which is probably a gift in and of itself.”

“Sounds a little Stepford.”

You chuckled. He was in for a big surprise when it came to Shelley. You looked forward to it. “Be sure to mention that.” You took a moment to consider who you were talking to; you would not put it past him to do just that. “Actually, don’t.”

He flashed his teeth knowingly. “Cedar Springs is pretty fucking ritzy compared to your place now. You miss it?”

You shook your head. “A lot of dumb HOA politics, and the landlord was crap.” Your duplex now was owned by Mrs. Simpson, the elderly widow who lived next door, so usually, your maintenance issues also affected her, meaning they were dealt with promptly. Plus, her nephew took care of the grass.

“I lived not far from there for a few years. Older neighborhood though. Not too bad. Nosey neighbors, but decent folks. Good place for kids.” He hummed along to an R.E.M. song.

“Why’d you move?”

“Had to sell the house to pay some bills.”

You assumed he probably meant his wife’s medical bills. Someone had mentioned that the school held a benefit to help offset his wife’s healthcare costs years ago. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It happens. Got a place right off Highway 11 now, near Cross Anchor Mills.”

You nodded, knowing the general area.

The conversation helped bring a sense of normalcy back to the situation. You realized you were tense in general. Not just because of Negan but because you felt a little out of sorts. You were used to having a certain amount of control over the various aspects of your life, like driving to dinner, deciding when to leave, not needing to fight temptation at every turn. Maybe that was part of the reason you had taken a step back from the dating scene. Life was much easier when you weren't constantly adjusting to the upheaval created by getting close to someone new. Negan seemed to be taking great pleasure in insinuating himself into your life lately. You could only guess that it was either from sheer boredom or because you presented a new challenge for him. Knowing him, probably a bit of both. 

Cedar Springs was a cute neighborhood, one of those where the majority of the dwellers were young couples with children. Shelley was one of those morning walkers who liked to talk to everyone in the neighborhood, which was how you'd met since her morning walks corresponded with the time you had usually left for work. She listened to old boyband music as she jogged, and the two of you had bonded over it, eventually finding out that you had much more in common. Even now when you did your stress baking, you were in the habit of calling Shelley over to help enjoy the fruits of your labor and have a dance party.

Her house was a tall, mock Victorian with giant decorative Ds on the mailbox and front door. Outside the house were five different pumpkin displays. Her husband was really into pumpkin carving, and she was into decorating. Carved pumpkins were covered in paint, sequins, clothes in some cases, and all manner of other decorative items.

The display closest to the road seemed to be a group of fairy pumpkins surrounded by a large diorama of Stonehenge that was no doubt carved out of other pumpkins. Each fairy pumpkin had sparkling wings and iridescent eyes. On the side of the house was an under the sea pumpkin scene with mer-pumpkins riding unicorn seahorse pumpkins. In front of the garden was a vampire pumpkin murder scene; one of the vampumpkins was suspended in midair and had a full Dracula costume. Another display in the middle of the yard was the classic haystacks with a bunch of sweater-wearing pumpkins. Each one had thick, black-framed glasses and freckles. The final display was on the white porch. Every step had its own solid-colored pumpkin, but together, the pumpkins made up the colors of the rainbow. A rainbow arched over them, foil garland dripping colorful sprinkles down onto the pumpkins. 

After parking across the street, Negan took it all in. “What in the Hell did you get me into?” 

“You got yourself into this one, buddy,” you retorted before letting yourself out of the car.

You came around the car and waited for him to get out, surprised to see him holding a wine bottle when he straightened. Eying the bottle, you raised a brow.

“What? I do have some home training.” 

“Shelley's a recovering alcoholic.” 

His eyes widened comically, and he looked down at the wine and cursed.

You laughed, gleeful to finally get one over on him; then you put your hand on his upper arm as he reached to open the car again. “Just kidding.”

He looked down at your hand, and then back to you. “Glad to see you're in a playful mood.” He leaned in. “I think it's going to be a fun night.”

You took a breath and forced yourself to let him go and step away. It was definitely going to be a long one. 

He grinned, obviously glad to have the upperhand again. 

So that's how it was? Maybe it was about time for you to turn the tables on him. This morning, he had mentioned that he wanted to see your moves. Perhaps he could use a taste of his own medicine. “Come on,” you said, reaching out to smooth your hand up and down his upper arm again before heading toward the house. You climbed up the porch steps, careful to avoid disturbing any pumpkins. When you rang the doorbell, it sang out the first few bars of "Phantom of the Opera," organ and all. 

“Holy shit,” Negan said, coming to your side and slipping his arm around your waist.

You sighed. “Try to behave yourself while we're here.”

“Already trying to change me, Sugar? I didn't think we'd reached that point in our relationship. I thought this was going to be a ‘you're fucking perfect just as you are’ sort of affair.”

You slanted your eyes toward him. “You think the woman of the week thing is going to work in your next relationship?”

“With the right woman,” he waggled his eyebrows, “bringing home a new gal every week would be the icing on the cake.”

“Good luck finding the right woman, then.”

He grinned as the door finally swung open, revealing Shelley. 

Shelley was short and pleasantly plump. She had shoulder length curly blonde hair and was draped in a long, deep red dress with a high collar that should have been left in the Victorian era. She looked up at both of you and then pulled you into an excited hug.

A laugh bubbled out of you at her typical enthusiasm. You pulled back after a couple of seconds. “Shelley, this is Negan.”

Negan tried to hold out the wine, but before he could, Shelley had released you and pulled him into her arms. He accommodated her quickly, wrapping his free arm behind her. 

“It's so nice to finally meet you,” she told him when she pulled away.

He winked and said, “We brought wine.”

“Aww, thanks. I just got my first year sober chip, but you’re welcome to enjoy some.”

“I already pulled that one on him, Shelley.”

“Rats,” she said, balling her hand into a fist.

_ Rats _ , Negan mouthed while Shelley was still focused on you. “Nice to see you ladies take addiction so seriously.”

Shelley shrugged and took the bottle. “My mother really was an alcoholic. Gotta be able to laugh. Now get in here!” She ushered you both inside.

Normally, Shelley’s house was beautiful on the inside, full of colors and light, with sleek lines and expensive, feminine touches here and there. You’d been over to visit not too long ago, and she’d draped the mantle with orange, brown, and gold silk floral arrangements. Tall vases filled with mini pumpkins, pinecones, and fat acorns had graced every flat surface. 

But tonight was different. Shelley had redecorated to match the theme of the dinner, and she had spared no expense in turning her home into a place befitting Satan’s mistress. Black and red roses now crawled over the mantle and other surfaces in place of the fall decor. Distorted mirrors surrounded by ornate frames hung along the walls in place of the usual plethora of family and friend photos. The lights were low, and flames danced across several huge candelabras with black candles.

“Welcome to  _ Sinner’s Night _ ,” Shelley’s husband Eric stepped in front of you, announcing the dinner’s theme. He was wearing a grey suit that looked like it had been pulled right off of Gary Oldman’s Dracula. He even wore a matching tophat and carried a cane with a silver ball on the top. Eric was half-Vietnamese and had long, dark, curly hair. He was just a few inches shorter than Negan. He wrapped his arm around Shelley. 

Negan took it all in with a slow nod and then leaned to the side and said  _ sotto voce _ , “Thanks for the head’s up, sweetheart. I’ll be sure to return the favor.”

Despite the saccharine-laced threat, you grinned, a little self-satisfied that you had thrown him off his game and gotten him out of his element, even if it was short-lived.

Shelley closed the door behind you, and you caught Negan glancing at it, as though very concerned his exit had just been cut off. “Come meet the others,” she said in her usual chipper tone that didn’t match the theme at all but fit her to a tee.

The house was laid out in an open floor plan. In the dining area, near the large oval dining table stood Chelsea and her date, a tall, heavy guy with dark skin, who you didn’t recognize. This wasn’t unusual as Chelsea preferred to keep short term relationships; she enjoyed all the wooing and hated the drama. Her date’s face indicated that he felt about as out of place as Negan, so you were guessing he hadn’t been warned of the theme either. He had nice dreads and wore black pants with a red t-shirt that sported a big elephant and said,  _ Roll Tide, Roll _ . 

Chelsea was tall and voluptuous. Her long hair was brassy bleached with black ends, and she was wearing a tight purple dress that showed off her figure. 

“This is Terrence. He’s from Alabama,” Shelley introduced Chelsea’s date.

“He’s a real estate broker,” Chelsea added. She was a real estate agent, so you were guessing that would be the reason for her pride.

"Nice to meet you, Terrence.” You shook his hand and introduced yourself.

“What do you teach?” he asked once you’d told him your profession.

“Home Ec,” you said with your usual self-deprecating shrug. No one appreciated Home Ec these days.

“Man, I loved Home Ec. Mrs. Babb cooked for us every day. The whole football team took her for an easy A. Also made it easier to score on Fridays,” he told you with a wink.

You laughed, surprised. “That sounds about right. Holds true these days as well except I don’t get nearly as many players, and I make the kids do most of the work.”

“Shoulda seen her in action when she had them throwing down for the fall festival,” Negan said, draping an arm across your shoulders. “It was like the room had exploded with sweet shit.”

“And this is Negan,” you said before officially introducing Shelley's husband Eric and Chelsea. “Negan teaches P.E.”

“Oh, you took the baseball team to State last year,” Chelsea leaned forward, her cleavage threatening to burst from the dress. Terrence enjoyed the view. Negan and Eric did too, though Eric was the most subtle about it.

“Made them work their asses off for it,” Negan said. “They got lazy in the end though. Complacent fucks.”

You tried to hide the cringe at his language, but no one seemed to care, or if they did, they didn’t show it. This was a particularly surprising response from Shelley, who liked ceremony and propriety. Maybe the spirit of Sinner’s Night had loosened her reservations. Or it could be the way she’d been staring up at Negan with hearts in her eyes since she’d opened the door and seen him.

“Sounds like it was so exciting,” Shelley said. “You’ll have to tell us all about it.”

“We’d love to hear more,” Chelsea agreed, twirling a lock of her hair.

You blinked. Was this actually happening? Were they both flirting with him?

Terrence gave Chelsea a curious look while Eric pulled Shelley closer into his side. “Reign it in, babe,” he said.

“But it’s Sinner’s Night,” she told him.

He let out a put upon sigh and gave her an affectionate look.

“So what's with all the fucking pumpkins?” Negan asked without preamble. 

You came just short of slapping a hand over your face.

“Tell me about it,” Eric said, “I told her five displays was too many.”

“Yeah, four would’ve been much more subtle,” Negan replied. 

Everyone laughed except Shelley who said, “Well I had a sixth one planned, a zombie pumpkin party, but Amanda from across the street threatened to go to the HOA. What a bitch.”

Eric, Chelsea, and you gave Shelley wide-eyed looks. She never cussed.

“Well, it’s true,” she defended herself.

“The Phantom of the Opera” announced another arrival. Eric went for the door this time.

“Negan,” Shelley said, “you have to come try the appetizers. I made candied pork belly.” She took him by the crook of the arm and led him to a buffet she had set up on the far wall.

Chelsea trailed after them, and Negan looked back at you with panic in his eyes as though he were being carried off by a pair of sirens. You were equal parts delighted to see him squirm for having invited himself and bemused by the whole scene.

“Uhh, this happen often?” Terrence asked, turning to watch them.

You shrugged. “Not with any of my dates. I think Shelley’s just really embracing the theme here.”

“What about Chelsea?”

“You know Chelsea,” you watched as she rubbed a hand down Negan’s back and complimented his jacket, “she’s a wildcard.” You were used to seeing other women fawn over Negan, so this wasn't too big a deal to you. But it was pretty rude of her to do it in front of Terrence unless they weren't actually together. “You and Chelsea been seeing each other long?”

“Since July. She wanted to bring me to Shelley's summer cookout, but apparently there was a scheduling issue.”

Ah, so Terrence was the infamous last minute date who unknowingly caused a falling out between Shelley and Chelsea. Probably would be wise not to bring up the fact that Negan was a last minute addition. You nodded in response. "Shelley's usually pretty rigid about the rules." 

Currently, your hostess was holding a small plate piled with hors d'oeuvres in front of Negan. He took one of whatever it was between his thumb and forefinger and put it in his mouth. Chelsea and Shelley watched him eat as though transfixed. Then Chelsea added another finger food to his plate.

Eric returned with Roxy and Iris, who'd been married for a couple of years. Roxy wore black slacks and a white button up with a popped collar. Iris had on a colorful wraparound skirt and a tank top despite the cool weather. Several long pendants hung around her neck, and she wore a different colored crystal ring on each finger.

She danced into the room as Negan, Chelsea, and Shelley returned to the group. Eric and Roxy trailed behind her.

Negan came straight to you and pulled you against his side, offering you the small plate of tiny foods. You took what looked like an empanada dipped in either chocolate or mole and made another round of introductions. 

“Roxy and Iris own Lily White's,” Shelley said. You groaned internally, wishing she had left that out. Lily White's was a sex shop that sat on the state line.

“I've heard of it,” Negan said. “Never had much use for sex toys, but I’m willing to try new things. Maybe we should check it out together sometime,” he said, looking expectantly at you.

“I’ve been,” you said, and as usual, realized your mistake a moment too late.

“I’d love to see what you bought.”

“I’m sure you would.”

“Well you should still come soon. We may be selling the business,” Iris said to the room at large.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Chelsea asked.

“A huge,  _ huge _ , maybe,” Roxy said.

“We're thinking of having a baby!” Iris said.

Everyone looked around at each other and then all but Terrence and Negan turned to Roxy, who was very strong on her “just say no to babies” stance. She said nothing. 

“That's an interesting development,” you said. 

“We'll be looking for a sperm donor, guys, if anyone is interested,” Iris made direct eye contact with each of the men in the room. 

Eric blushed. 

Terrence looked terrified. 

Negan just raised an eyebrow. “How you planning to get the specimen? Because I can think of a few ways that will have volunteer studs lined up around the fucking block.”

Roxy started cracking up, and a moment later, everyone else was chuckling. “Oh,” she said over a laugh, “he's going to be fun.”

More like a handful, you thought. 

“Anyway, we've started talking about kids. No decisions made. And none will be made in the near future,” she told her wife sternly.

Iris frowned, but a moment later, she floated to the buffet table to check out the apps.

“So,” Shelley started, “baby fever has really set in. How's that going?”

Roxy sighed. “I'm going to need the strongest drink you got.”

“Oh, drinks! I made Sinful Sangria.” She waved you all over to a punch bowl that was near the buffet.

Everyone started over. Before you could follow, Negan grabbed your upper arm, pulled you back, and leaned down to whisper fiercely, “We've been here ten minutes, and so far, one of your friends has fondled me, the other propositioned me, and another invited me to sire her children. What kind of freaky-deaky shit are you into?”

You couldn't help but laugh. “I tried to warn you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I told you not to invite yourself. Look, they're not normally like this. It's a themed party. Let them have their fun. Except for the fondling. I should probably talk to Chelsea about that.”

“Shelley's the one you need to fuckin’ watch out for.”

The idea of Shelley using Sinner’s Night as an excuse to get a handful of Negan was pretty ludicrous, but it seemed she was capable of anything tonight. If the shoe were on the other foot and one of his friends had fondled you, you probably wouldn’t find it so entertaining. “We can go if you want.” 

He looked at you for a second and squeezed your arm. “You ain't getting off that easy. We got plans tonight.” 

You felt the slightest tremor of anticipation at his words. Now was the perfect time to use one of those moves he'd asked to see. You stepped into him and put your index finger on his chest, running it along the buttons of his shirt. “I look forward to seeing where the night takes us,” you said softly, opening your eyes just a little wider as you looked up at him. You watched his pupils dilate in response. Oh yeah, you had moves, and he was susceptible to them. 

He tilted his head, like he was going in for a kiss, but you pulled back just before he could. 

“Come on, I want sangria.” You released his hand and joined the rest of the group.

Ten minutes later, everyone had a drink and a small plate of appetizers, and you were all sitting around the dining table preparing to play some crazy game that Eric was excited to subject you to. It was a role playing game set in a post apocalypse where you all had to work together to accomplish some yet to be determined goal.

“But no matter what happens,” Eric said as he explained the game, “you're all going to die at the end.”

Roxy sighed. “I'm going to learn one day to stop letting you pick the games.”

Eric cackled. He was really into game night stuff. “Alright folks, on your cards, write the name of your character, their occupation, two strengths, and a weakness.”

Knowing how these games went, you decided to be a high ranked soldier named Myrtle. Your special skills were medicine and endurance, and your weakness was anger. You had been roped into such games before and figured there would be a couple of curveballs but that it would still be fun. Or at least watching Negan try to role play would be fun.

“Okay,” Eric said, barely holding back the glee in his tone. What a lovable nerd. "Now give all your character cards to the person to your left." This meant you gave your cards to Chelsea, and you got Negan's cards. “You're now playing the character you were just handed. Look at the cards you were given, and then you’ll all introduce yourselves to each other in character.”

You read through your cards and glared at Negan. “Can't we make a change or two? Maybe switch again?”

“No changes,” Eric said.

Everyone began introducing their characters. Roxy was playing a coal miner's daughter named Frankie who had been a top global warming scientist. Iris was playing a broker named T who could bench 500 pounds.

Terrence shrugged. “Sorry. This isn't really my thing.”

Chelsea had your character and seemed pretty content with Myrtle while Terrence was a prima ballerina named Yuliya who had mastered the art of dance fighting and excelled at seduction.

“I'm Sheriff,” Negan said when it was his turn.

“You mean you are the sheriff, or that's the character's name?” Eric wondered.

“The card just says Sheriff.” He looked to Shelley whose cards he had received.

“Sorry,” she cried. “I panicked.”

“Well what are your strengths and weaknesses?” Eric asked.

“I'm a sharpshooter and ride horseback. That's a strength?” 

“I thought it was cool,” she said in defense.

He sighed. “And I'm allergic to dogs.”

The table groaned as a whole. Shelley really loved to have her games; she just wasn't particularly good at them.

“Let's just move on.” Eric made a motion for you to go next.

You sighed heavily. “My character is a,” you took a breath and ground out, “smoking hot pornstar named Sugar,” you glared pointedly at Negan, “whose strengths are hand to hand combat and cooking delicious shit.” 

Negan could barely contain his laughter but somehow managed.

“And your weakness?” Eric fought to keep a straight face too.

You took a deep breath and said, “Clothes.”

Everyone looked at you wide eyed, except for Negan, who sat back, pleased with himself. 

Terrence was the first to recover. “So...we all agree that Negan's the winner, right?”

“There is no winner,” Eric said. “You're all going to die.”

“Can I die now?”

“Sorry, Sugar, you gotta see this through,” Negan said.

“Sorry, Sugar,” the table echoed. 

Oh no, it was going to become a thing. Why was it you hadn’t refused Negan when he’d first suggested joining you? A big, warm hand slid down your back and over your hip. You shivered. Ah, that was it. You had issues with boundaries. Thankful for the veil provided by the dark light, you caught his hand as it reached your thigh and threaded your fingers through his, stopping his progress. 

Eric was explaining something about the plot of the game, probably important information that you would need down the road, but you couldn’t concentrate. 

Negan squeezed your fingers and leaned in. “I think I’m going to enjoy this game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me, so dinner will be in multiple parts. Shoutout to everyone who gave suggestions for the dinner, by the way, especially my writer's group. You can thank them for the most bizarre parts.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems strange at first, no, you're not reading the wrong fic, but you may want to reread the last part of the previous chapter.

_ Pornstars tend to get a lot of negative press. You'd always heard that breaking into the business was a painful transition. Sure, you'd had the same dreams as any other aspiring actress: go to the big city, land the role of a lifetime, share the silver screen with the biggest of names, and be a world-renowned celebrity, one whose death would be mourned by fans who'd never even met you. But that wasn't in the cards for you. Instead, you'd fallen on hard times, and when your manager told you a start up porn company had put out casting calls, you'd sucked it up (not literally, thankfully) and given the casting director the show of a lifetime. Really, all it came down to was a bra that did wonders, three applications of pucker-inducing gloss, and a basket of cinnamon chip muffins. _

_ “Oh my God,” the burly guy had said, already on his second muffin. “These are better than Nana's. Are you sure you aren't part of craft?” _

_ You assured him you weren't from craft services but promised to bring a baked good to every rehearsal and taping if you got the role. You did. _

_ And as it turned out, your smoking hot looks and delicious, edible goods were enough to supercharge the start of your career in porno flicks, launching you to star status within a couple of years. With a name like Sugar Oasis, you were going places. _

_ Aside from the occasional creepy stalker, frisky crew member, or director who thought he was entitled to sampling your bodily goods, life was great. That was, at least, until They came.  _

_ No one knew much about Them. Some suggested They might be aliens from another planet, seeking to take earth’s resources and dominate. Others claimed They were magical beings from a different realm, intent on forcing the human race to become their sex pets. Still, there were those who were certain They were reanimated corpses who could sing. _

“Out of character. Guys,” Eric said, “if you add too many conflicting details, it's going to make the plot too confusing to follow. And really, Negan, singing zombies?” 

“What? They're coming to kill you. Might as well be entertaining. You saying you wouldn't watch a movie with singing zombies?”

“It'd probably do great at indie festivals,” Roxy cut in.

“See? She gets it."

Shelley sighed. “I was really hoping the creatures would be vampires. Who doesn't find vampires sexy?”

“They're fine until they sparkle,” you said, eating another empanada. It was filled with braised pork and dipped in smokey mole made with a fair amount of Mexican chocolate and cinnamon. 

“You got that right,” Chelsea put her hand up, and you slapped palms.

“So I should be Blade next week for Halloween?” Terrence asked.

“Oh, I could definitely get on board with that,” she replied.

“Am I the only one who forgot who's who already?” Iris asked.

“See? This is why I said we should do nametags,” Shelley said. “I could’ve made them so pretty.”

Eric sighed. “Introduce yourselves one more time.” 

“I'm Sister Charity,” Shelley said, “the sweet, elderly nun.” 

“Frankie the scientist,” said Roxy.

“I'm T,” Iris attempted to say in a deep voice. It was a pretty pitiful attempt, but she got points for trying.

“So then I'm Yuliya the dancer. Am I Russian?” Terrence asked Chelsea. 

“You get to world build anything not on your card as long as it doesn't break the main perimeters of the narrative,” Eric responded.

Terrence nodded though it was clear he didn't really get it.

“Don't worry,” you told him. “We all muddle through our first time.”

Never one to miss an opportunity for a good innuendo, Negan leaned in and said lowly, “Oh, to have been a fly on the wall for your first time.”

“Trust me,” you told him, “you didn't miss much.”

“Ouch,” he made a pained face. “Ain't that the beauty of roleplaying, though? Maybe you and I could recreate our first times later, with a  _ much  _ happier ending.”

There was a lot to unpack there. Bedroom roleplay with Negan could probably get pretty crazy. Also, there was the whole not sleeping with him thing that you’d committed to. “I'm not sure I can handle that.”

“That's what they all say the first time they see the heat I’m packing.”

A throat cleared. 

You looked up from where you had leaned into Negan for your exchange to see you had an audience again. Right.

“So anyway,” Chelsea said, “I'm Myrtle, a high-ranking, bodacious military biatch.”

“Sugar the pornstar,” you didn't miss the chance to glare at Negan.

“And Sheriff,” Negan tipped an imaginary hat.

“And I'm your Game Master,” Eric said. “Now that you've had a refresher, what's it going to be, guys? Aliens, zombies, or unspecified magical beings?”

“It's Sinner’s Night,” Shelley said, “the magic beings seeking sex slaves are the most sinful.”

You all had to concede to her point.

“Magic fuckers, it is,” Negan said.

“Back to the game,” Eric ordered.

_ No one knew much about Them, only that they were capable of weilding powerful magic and turned every human who they didn't kill into a sex puppet. _

_ Not long after the creatures had begun their siege, you had met up with a ragtag band of friends and strangers. Though it was tough to know who to trust, since the creatures could blend in with humanity and were capable of mind control, you had all agreed on one thing. If any of you became exposed to the magic that would turn one into a sex-craving maniac, the others would kill that person without hesitation.  _

_ Your group consisted of Myrtle, a badass high-ranking military officer who received orders from Central Command; T, a beefy broker with a surprisingly high pitched voice who served as your strong man; Frankie, a scientist and the resident genius; Sister Charity, an elderly nun, who had been a serial killer before converting; Yuliya, a prima ballerina who fought and seduced nearly every man she met despite her deep baritone; Sheriff, a cowboy from a small town, who was otherwise a mystery; and of course you, the pornstar with hand-to-hand combat skills and not much else that would prove helpful in an end of world situation. You had all taken refuge in an old motel. _

_ “Command says they have intel on an orphanage,” Myrtle informed you all. “There are at least twenty-five children there. It's only thirty miles from us. They want us to retrieve the children and take them to an extraction point. If all goes to plan, they'll take us with them.” _

_ “So basically,” Sheriff said, “a bunch of kids are our ticket to surviving this shit.”  _

_ A disembodied voice giggled, akin to how an obsessed game master might. It was only mildly disturbing.  _

_ “It's a suicide mission!” T exclaimed. _

_ You all looked at him. “How do you know?” you asked. _

_ He shrugged. “I don't know, it sounded good.” _

“Out of character,” Eric said. “Iris, try to be more imaginative.” 

Iris huffed and deepened T's voice, going back into the game and saying,  _ “I mean, I just know. Those creatures will get us for sure. And even though we should share the earth and try to make peace with them, I'm a big, strong man, so I'm gonna swing my big ol' dick around and make everything worse instead of using my words.”  _

_ Well then. T certainly had an interesting view of his own gender.  _

_ “Damn straight,” Sheriff agreed, reaching across the way to fistbump T. _

_ “But my children, we must go,” wailed Sister Charity. “We must save every young soul we can, especially these innocents. For if we die doing so, we will die as saints.” _

“Wow, pretty impressive, Shelley,” Roxy said.

“Ahem,” Eric interjected. “Be sure to say 'out of character' before addressing another player to avoid confusion.”

“Out of character, you take this crap way too seriously. And I need a refill.” Roxy got up for more sangria.

Eric sighed. “Game on.”

_ “Anyway, we know how T and Sister Charity feel about going,” Myrtle said. “What do the rest of you think?” _

_ “I'm good either way,” Yuliya told you all in her deep voice, with a bizarre-sounding Russian accent. _

_ “Well I think it's a setup,” Frankie said as she got a drink. “We don't even know who runs Central Command.” _

_ Your whole family had been taken or killed by the creatures, so you had nothing to lose. “I'm in,” you said. _

_ “I'm with Sugar,” Sheriff said. He winked and squeezed your hand.  _

_ You hadn't realized you were holding onto him and released his hand, nudging it back toward his body. _

_ He cut you a sideways grin. Just what you needed as the world was falling down around you: a flirty cowboy who may or may not be an actual sheriff.  _

_ “Well,” said Myrtle, “that's two and a half noes, and three and a half yeses, and I agree we should go for the kids.” _

_ “And how does Command suggest we travel with a bunch of screaming brats?” Frankie asked, taking a swig of her drink. _

_ T gasped. “Why would you say something so mean?” _

_ A disembodied throat cleared. _

_ “I mean,” T scrambled, dropping his voice, “yeah, kids aren't cute and sweet and perfect at all. And rescuing them is bad news, even if,” T grew misty-eyed and sniffled, “each one is a treasure sent from Heaven.” _

_ You all turned to look at T, who was blinking back tears. _

_ Sheriff caught your eye and mouthed _ Wow.  _ Your thoughts exactly.  _

_ Frankie sighed, "Jesus, I didn't mean it like that." She took in a breath. "Let's just focus on the ga--err--mission." _

_ The radio in Myrtle's hand crackled. “This is Central Command. We've left two gassed up vans in the parking lot for your mission.” _

Out of character, you gave Eric a small thumbs up for the save. No one wanted to see Roxy and Iris explode tonight. 

_ “Looks like we've got rides, but we'll have to split up,” Myrtle said. _

_ “Since I've got experience with law enforcement,” Sheriff spoke up, “makes sense for me to lead one of the teams. Myrtle, you lead the other.” _

_ “Now just a minute,” said Frankie. “I thought your name was just Sheriff.”  _

_ He shrugged. “My mama was hopeful the name would set me on a path of right-doing.” _

_ “And did it?” _

_ “Sure.” _

_ “Why should we believe you?” you asked. _

_ “I ever done you wrong, Sugar?” _

_ Talk about loaded questions. “Not yet,” you finally answered, “but we hardly know each other.” _

_ “No time like the present. You're with me. We'll take the nun, too.”  _

_ Sister Charity blushed and took a sip of her drink. “Yay!” _

_ Myrtle looked a bit disappointed. “Guess that puts T, Yuliya, and Frankie with me.” _

_ Frankie's eyes widened. “I should probably go with the others.” _

_ T looked at her. “Are you trying to get away from me?” _

_ “No, but--” _

_ “We'll probably need you with us in the lead van, just in case anything goes down, Frankie,” Myrtle told her. _

_ Frankie sighed. “Fine.” _

_ “A nun, a pornstar, and the sheriff head off to an orphanage. There's a joke in there somewhere,” Sheriff said. _

_ “Let us know when you think of it,” you replied. _

_ Not long later, you all started loading the vans. Frankie caught you alone and said, “There's something about Sheriff I just don't like. He's hiding something. Maybe you can try to pump him for information.”  _

“Ooh, a subplot,” Eric said, rubbing his hands together.

“Out of character!” the table yelled at him.

"Sorry," he said

“Am I just supposed to ignore this potential mutiny brewing underfoot?” Negan asked.

“Yes,” Eric explained, “because Roxy built a secret interaction into her part of the story. So even though you all heard it as players, only Frankie and Sugar know about it in the story unless they choose to tell other characters.” 

“So you're saying I can just go up and do and say anything to any other character, and they can't stop me?”

“Not until they react.” 

“Hmm.” Negan rubbed his chin. “Good to know.” He slid his arm along the back of your chair again. “Real good to know.”

Uh oh, you thought.

“Game on,” Eric said.

_ Once you all finished loading and had the correct coordinates, you started out toward the orphanage, Myrtle's van leading the way. _

_ The creatures had cast a spell of Everlasting Night, which kept the whole planet enshrouded in darkness. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen the sun, and you hated the dark. _

_ Sister Charity sat in the back of the van while you rode shotgun beside Sheriff.  _

_ A disembodied voice, your conscience perhaps, reminded you that Frankie had suggested you try to find out what Sheriff was hiding. _

“Out of fucking character,” Negan said, “am I supposed to ignore that too?”

“The game master’s additions and reminders,” Eric said, “are just like exposition in a story. Players are aware but characters aren’t.”

“Jesus, you guys ever thought about playing something less complicated like drunk Trivial Pursuit or Yahtzee?”

“That would be a welcome change,” Roxy said.

“Didn’t we have a talk about you behaving yourself?” you asked Negan at the same time Iris said to Roxy, “You promised to be nice.”

The table looked around at each other in surprise, and then everyone started laughing.

“Sorry, Sugar,” Negan said.

“Sorry, Sugar,” the table echoed.

You took a gulp of sangria, trying to hide your annoyance. It was definitely going to be a thing.

“Let’s try to stay focused or we’ll be here ‘til midnight,” Eric warned. “Game on.”

_ While you weren’t privy to what was going on in the other van, you knew it was important to use your time to try to get some information. You turned to Sheriff and pouted your pornstar lips up at him. “So Sheriff, tell me a little more about yourself.” _

_ “Oh, you know, the usual. Spent a few years in prison.” _

_ “Father in Heaven,” Sister Charity said, crossing herself. _

_ Your eyes widened. “Prison? What were you in for?” _

_ “I shot a man in Reno.” _

_ “Just to watch him die?” _

_ He grinned. “Look at that. You get me after all. Anything else you want to know?” _

_ You figured you didn’t have anything to lose. “Frankie thinks you’re hiding something.” _

_ Suddenly, the van in front of you exploded in a ball of fire. _

_ Sheriff swerved to avoid hitting the inferno and ended up wrecking into a tree. “Well, shit.” _

_ “We must try to save them,” Sister Charity shouted and immediately began a course of prayers. _

_ You and Sheriff looked at each other. _

_ “I don’t know, looks like a pretty big fire. Doubt anyone made it,” Sheriff said. _

_ “You sure you want to let the whole van of allies die?” asked a disembodied voice. _

_ You sighed heavily. “I guess we should go see if anyone’s alive.” _

_ Myrtle and Yuliya perished in the fire. _

“This is some bullshit,” Terrence said. 

“Out of character,” Eric reminded.

“Out of character? My character’s dead, and I was just getting into it too.”

Chelsea leaned into his ear and whispered. She usually made it a point to be the first loser in any game, giving her time with her date.

“Oh,” he smiled. “If y’all’ll excuse us, I think we’re going to go check out the back porch.” He and Chelsea got up a moment later and left the room, refreshing their sangria on the way out.

“Game back on.”

_ “What happened?” Sister Charity asked.  _

_ “I’ll tell you what happened,” Frankie said. “We were sabotaged.” _

_ “Sabotaged?” T asked. _

_ “I noticed Sheriff snuck off before we left. I think he tampered with the vans.” _

_ “You ain’t got a lick of proof that I did anything,” Sheriff defended himself. _

_ “So where were you then?” Frankie demanded. _

_ “I was fucking around with Sugar.” _

Out of character, you were minding your own business and nibbling on a toasted crostini with melted brie and cranberry chutney. Everyone was watching you suddenly, waiting on your response. 

“Well?” Roxy prompted in character as Frankie.  _ “Were you with Sheriff?”  _

_ “Uh, yes?” _

_ “That's right.” Sheriff stretched his big hand across your knee and slowly moved it up. “We been fucking for a while.”  _

_ You glared at him, finally realizing what you'd just agreed to. Then you grabbed his hand and moved it back to his own knee, holding it firmly in place. _

_ “Well I've been fucking her too,” Frankie announced.  _

_ This was news to you. All eyes were on you again. “What can I say? I'm a pornstar. They both begged me to show them what it was like to be with a real woman before the world ended.” _

_ “I would've liked to get me a piece of that fine ass, too,” T said. _

_ “Maybe later,” you winked. _

_ Suddenly, the creatures swooped in, raining down a sticky, sparkly red and gold powder. _

“Oh my God, Eric, sex pollen? Seriously?” Roxy asked.

Eric did his game master giggle. “Stay in character!” 

“What in the fuck is sex pollen?” Sheriff or maybe Negan asked. You really weren't sure at this point.

“Exactly what the name says,” you told him, “and you don't want it on you.”

_ Everyone ducked and dove for cover. Once the cloud dispersed and settled, everyone checked themselves for traces of the pollen on their skin. _

_ “Oh no, Mother of God, not like this,” cried Sister Charity. “There's some on my wrist.” She flung her head back and wailed. “I feel myself changing! So many urges, urges I've spent years denying.” She flung herself into Sheriff's arms and kissed him. _

_ Sheriff shot her in the head without hesitation. _

_ “Awww,” said a disembodied female voice. “I guess I'll get dinner ready.” _ Shelley got up from the table.

_ You, T, and Frankie looked at Sheriff with wide eyes. _

_ “What? We made a pact.” _

_ “But she was a nun,” said T.  _

_ He shrugged. _

_ Frankie pulled T aside. “I think we need to team up and get Sugar away from Sheriff. He's a maniac.” _

_ “But we did all make a pact,” T reasoned. “Sister Charity wouldn't have wanted to live like that.” _

“The Hell she wouldn't,” Shelley called from the kitchen. 

_ “I don't care,” Frankie said. “I can fix the van he wrecked while you overpower him. We'll leave him stranded here.” _

_ “Well,” Sheriff said, overly loud, “since I certainly don't hear anyone trying to impugn my honor and plot against me, I might as well take Sugar aside for a minute.” He turned to you. “Listen, Sugar, there's something I gotta tell you.” _

_ He stared deeply into your eyes and put a hand over yours where you still held his other hand over his lap. You had only been distantly aware of holding him again, the warm weight a comforting anchor. _

_ He moved the hand that had covered yours to your cheek. “I'm one of them magical fucks, and I impregnated you with my magic seed last night.” _

_ “You what?!” _

As you yanked your hand away from Negan, he leaned forward to laugh. Your fingers accidentally brushed his crotch, and his knee jerked up in response. He jammed it up into the table, causing it to shake. Glass punch cups partially filled with sangria jostled, and plates of food shimmied.

“Fuck,” he cursed lowly, rubbing his knee.

“Out of character, are you guys okay?” Eric asked.

“We're fine,” you both said.

“Okay, game on, I guess?”

_ “What the fuck, Sheriff? You're one of Them?” you asked. _

_ “And now you will be too since you've got a little magic fuck growing inside of you.” _

_ “Did you ever think that maybe I don't want to have your magic babies? Also, I can't be pregnant. I'm a pornstar. I'm on birth control, and we used protection.”  _

_ “Yeah, my magic shit took care of that.” _

_ Before you could get used to the idea of carrying an unspecified magical creature's spawn, Frankie and T rushed you and Sheriff. Though you were good at hand to hand combat, it didn't do much to save you from the six bullets that Frankie shot into your stomach. T shoved a tire iron through Sheriff's heart, which you learned from a disembodied voice was an acceptable way to kill Them. Using the last of his energy, Sheriff conjured up some "magic shit" to kill Frankie and T. _

_ “Well shit,” Sheriff said, meeting your eyes as he died, “looks like I got us killed. Sorry, Sugar.” _

“Sorry, Sugar,” the table echoed.

You sat back from the table, surprised at how thankful you were to finally be dead. 

“And so, everyone died,” Eric said, “never reaching the poor children, who were surely taken by the magical beings not long later.”

The table clapped out a round of underwhelmed applause.

Negan turned to you. “You saying you wouldn't want to have my babies?”

“You impregnated my character against her will.”

“You were willing to have all that imaginary sex. Bet it was some real kinky shit, too, you being a pornstar and all. Probably taught Sheriff a thing or two.”

You sighed. “I'm going to go help Shelley with dinner.”

“So Negan,” Iris leaned in, “does your family have any history of mental illness?”

The deer in headlights look on Negan’s face just about made bringing him along worth the insanity of the night. You made your way into the kitchen area, where Shelley was stirring a huge pot of what looked like butternut squash soup. She pointed to a baguette on the massive island counter and asked if you would slice and oil it. You nodded and went to the task, finding a good knife from her knife block.

“Why didn't you mention that you and Negan were together?” Shelley asked, keeping her voice low. 

“We're not.” 

She blinked. “But you guys had your hands all over each other just now.”

“He's a hands-on sort of guy. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” You accepted the sheet pan that she handed you and began laying slices of bread out.

“Have you actually seen the way he looks at you?”

You shrugged. “It's a thing right now. He's trying to prove a point.” 

“That he can set your clothes ablaze with a look?”

You laughed. “It's Negan. He'll tear off any female's clothes.” 

“You think so?” she asked with interest, watching the group at the table. Roxy was drinking herself into oblivion while Iris interrogated Negan about his family history and genetics. Eric was scrolling on his phone.

“Well, I don't think he gets involved with a lot of married women.” 

“Hmm?” She turned to look at you. “Oh, I meant, we should test it. Chelsea's got the hots for him. We'll rearrange the seating for dinner, and you can test your theory, see if he gives her the same attention.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “He just watched Chelsea and Terrence sneak off together.” They still hadn’t made their way back. “That’s not the way he operates anyway. Besides, are you really going to make another last minute change, just to put some guy you barely know to the test?”

“Well, you said he’s a scoundrel.” You definitely hadn’t. “Besides, it’s in keeping with the spirit of Sinner’s Night.”

“What even is Sinner’s Night?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know. I got the idea from some glam rock song that Eric listened to for a week straight. But it sounds cool, right?” 

You laughed, brushing the sliced baguette with olive oil. “Sure. So what’s sinful about butternut squash soup?”

“It’s got lump crabmeat and truffle oil in it.”

You turned your head quickly so she couldn’t see the face you made. You weren’t sure how that flavor combination was going to go over with the group.

“I don’t know if this is a women’s domain only sort of thing,” Negan said, having extracted himself from Iris, “but I will literally do anything for you right now to not have to go back over there.” He tilted his head toward the table where Iris was back to pestering Roxy.

“Actually,” Shelley said, “could you get the hollowed pumpkins out of the oven? Then we’ll toast the bread, and you guys can start dishing up the soup.” She started out of the room.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

She smiled. “To get a surprise. Be back soon.” Her tone and eyebrow waggle left you with a sinking feeling.

Negan went to the oven and took out two pans of small, roasted pumpkins. Then he joined you at the island. “I have done some weird shit in my life, but that right there,” he indicated the table, now empty as Roxy and Iris had disappeared for the moment and Eric had followed Shelley, “just about takes the cake.”

“Please, you liked the game, at least a little. I saw you enjoying yourself.”

“Certain parts more than others,” he said, stepping into your space.

You ignored his warmth and finished brushing the bread. “Here,” you picked up the pan, “put this in the oven and set it to 400 degrees.”

“You got it.” 

Once the bread was in, you moved to the stove where the pot of soup was still steaming.

Negan leaned in to sniff it and made a disgusted face. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.” You grabbed the ladle and stirred the soup before dishing a couple of spoons into each pumpkin. There was one for each guest.

“This the main course?”

“I think so.” Your phone buzzed in your dress pocket and you pulled it out to check. Four missed calls from Krys. That was odd. Krys was more of a texter. Probably butt dials. You texted asking if they were okay.

Negan scratched his chin and checked his watch. “You know, probably wouldn't be a bad idea to get to the play a little early.”

You chuckled. “Shelley would kill us if we left early.” You finished dishing soup and set the ladle back in the pot, stepping back to lean your hip against the counter. 

“Nah. Your friends freaking love me. Shelley already invited me to her winter holiday dinner.”

“When did that happen?”

“When she was fondling me at the start of the night.”

You bit your lip to hold back a grin. It was wrong to take delight in his discomfort. 

“'Course,” he stepped up in front of you and into your space again, “she wasn't the only one who copped a feel tonight.”

You had almost forgotten about that. “I barely grazed you.”

“Bet you wish it was more than that. You know, I wouldn't mind if you got yourself a real handful, as long as I can get a little tit for tat.” He eyed your chest and brushed his knuckles down your upper arm. 

You shook your head. “Not a chance.”

“Not even a little one?”

“Nope.”

He slid his hand up to your neck and ran the pad of his thumb over your earlobe. “I'm pretty good at turning a ‘no’ into a ‘yes’ when I set my mind to it.”

“I'm sure you are.” You bit your bottom lip and waited for him to watch before releasing it slowly. 

He leaned in, almost closing the space between you. “You look like you're already rethinking your position.” 

“Well,” you said softly, moving to speak into his ear; he tilted his head down to accommodate you, “maybe that's because I've got moves too.” You pulled back and grinned up at him.

He looked at you with raised eyebrows, trying to gage whether or not you were serious. “Damn,” he said, leaning back. “Those fuckin' lips of yours. I should've known.” He shifted his hand to your jaw, and swiped his thumb over your lower lip before you could react. 

The back door opened, and Chelsea and Terrence walked in, smiles stretched wide over their faces. They went straight to the corner couch where Chelsea snuggled into Terrence’s lap. 

At the same time, Roxy and Iris came from the front porch, whisper-fighting. 

Negan let his hand fall away and stepped back. 

Minutes later, Shelley turned the corner from the hall that led to her bedroom. She had changed and was wearing a deep red corset with a sheer red skirt that gave everyone a clear view of her black panties.

Negan gripped your arm. “Please tell me you’re planning to change next.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. For some reason, you’d thought the most bizarre parts of the night were already behind you. It would seem that the night still had more surprises to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one's pretty wild. All I can say is that Sugar and Negan made me do it. Thanks for reading this far.


	12. Chapter 12

“Let’s eat,” Shelley said, making a dramatic gesture with her arms, her sheer, gossamer cape, which was connected to her bracelets and collar, flapping like wings. The move added such a theatrical flare that it seemed to be straight out of a campy horror flick.

Eric, still dressed as the Victorian-suited Dracula, had come into the room a minute behind her and had already suggested several times that his wife might put on more clothes. You were guessing he hadn’t been aware of the wardrobe change. 

So far, Shelley had ignored her husband in favor of making eyes at Negan. He seemed to have already looked his fill and now snickered anytime he glanced her way, which was quite possibly worse than if he’d just indulged her by ogling.

You and Eric both heaved put-upon sighs.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you frowned when you read the message from Krys:  _ 911!  _

“Something wrong?” Negan asked.

“Yeah, with Krys. Let me go see what's up.” You turned to Shelley and told her you needed to step out for a minute to check on another friend.

“Hurry back. We don’t want the soup to get cold.”

Negan gave a wide-eyed, sidelong look toward Roxy and Iris, who were standing by the buffet and still whisper-fighting. Iris turned for a second and caught Negan’s eye, hand wandering over her middle as she appeared to think about the baby she was hoping for.

After taking a second to revel in his discomfort, you grabbed his arm and pulled him with you out onto the front porch. Your phone was ringing by the time the door shut behind you. 

“Oh my God,” Krys yelled, “where have you been? I've called a hundred times!”

It was only five, but you didn't bother correcting them. “What's going on?”

“My asshole roommate. He threw me out of the apartment and is destroying my stuff.”

“Again?” Krys’s roommate, who you suspected participated in the drug end of the underground economy, went postal every few weeks. “Why didn't you call Matteo?"

“Because he borrowed my Jeep so he and the boys could have a back to nature night, and I can't freaking drive his stupid ass stick. And even if I could,” their voice raised back into a shout, as though the roommate in question could hear, “the keys are in my apartment." They took a breath. "Rocky came home high, pushed me out the door, and I've been out here trying to get someone on the phone for an hour.”

“What about the cops? Or a neighbor?”

They huffed. “Are you even aware of where I live? Shit like this happens every day. Ain’t nobody out here sticking their nose in anyone else’s business, and I definitely ain’t calling no cops.”

You sighed. “So I guess you need me to come get you.”

"Yes!"

Negan had been listening to your side of the exchange and watching your face. “Need to go?”

You nodded. “They've got roommate trouble. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Anything that gets us out of that pumpkin shit.”

You laughed.

“Who are you talking to?” Krys asked.

“Negan.”

“You’re out on a date with Negan, and you didn’t even tell me?”

“It’s not a date,” you told them.

Negan’s brows furrowed.

“It’s Saturday night,” Krys said, “and you’re out with a man you’ve been flirting with for months. Sounds like a date to me.”

You huffed. “I’ll be there soon. Try not to engage Rocky. We don’t want a repeat of last time.” Last time, Rocky had tricked Krys, making it seem like he’d fallen asleep and waiting until they tried to get in through the fire escape. Then he’d thrown a box of Krys’s shoes at them, knocking them back down a flight of stairs. Why Krys continued to try to live with him, you had no idea. You said your goodbyes and hung up. 

“You sure you don't mind leaving early?” you asked Negan.

He gave you a wry look. “I think if we'd left five minutes after walking in, it wouldn't have been too soon.”

“Come on, they're not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

You sighed, walking around him to the door. “It's really not like this normally. Probably just the full moon.”

“Full moon's next week,” he said, following you inside.

At that point, it wouldn't have surprised you to find an all-out orgy when you walked back in the house. Fortunately, you were spared that disturbing scene. Instead, the group sat around the dining table again, roasted pumpkin bowls of butternut squash soup with lump crabmeat and truffle oil steaming in front of each person and a platter of bread set out. No one had started eating yet. The smell of the soup had permeated the air now that it wasn’t in a covered pot, and it wasn’t particularly appetizing.

You were trying to think of how you might break the news of your necessary departure delicately when Negan said, “Well, we hate to not eat and run, but,” he jerked a thumb toward the door, “gotta go.”

You glared at his usual lack of tact.

Shelley rushed to her feet and said, “Go?! You can't leave before we eat.” She stepped toward the two of you, cape fluttering behind her.

“Sorry, Shelley,” you said. “My friend needs some help. I wouldn't go if it weren't an emergency.”

“But you'll miss out on the soup.”

“Real beat up about that. Listen, Shells,” Negan moved to put his hand on her shoulder and then, seeming to rethink the action, dropped it back to his side, “You put on a helluva dinner party. It’s an experience I won’t soon be able to forget, even if I try.” You had a feeling he might be planning to try. “I appreciate you making a spot for me at the last minute.” 

A glass clattered against the table as Chelsea slammed her drink. “Last minute?” She stood. “Did he just say you let him come at the last minute?”

Shelley's wide eyed look of panic was priceless.

“Negan,” Iris said, “could I get your number, just in case we have any more questions?”

“You said you'd drop it for the rest of the night,” Roxy ground out.

“You don't understand,” Shelley was telling Chelsea, “Negan was an exception to the rule. Next time Amanda from across the street is bragging about her cousin the flautist entertaining her dinner guests, I'll be able to say we had the coach who led the baseball team to State--”

The rest of what she said was cut off when you grabbed Negan's sleeve and pulled him back out the door. 

Negan chuckled. “That wasn't about to get awkward at all.”

You heard muffled yelling from the house. “Yeah, if only there had been a more tactful way to excuse ourselves.” 

“Seemed like one of those times where ripping off the Bandaid would save some hassle.”

Considering how the night had been going so far, he might actually be right about that one.    
“I kind of feel bad leaving Eric and Terrence behind,” you said, heading down the steps. 

“You kidding? They're about to watch their women go at each other's throats while a pair of lesbians fight in the background. They're going to be salivating to let Shelley and Chelsea blow off some steam in a couple of hours. We're doing them a favor by leaving early.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Good to know that nearly everything was foreplay through his eyes. From Shelley’s house, the muffled yelling escalated, and you heard what sounded like shattering glass as you passed the pumpkin Stonehenge. “Let’s get out of here.”

Once you were in the car and safely away from the madness that lay in Cedar Springs, Negan said, “So tell me about these roommate issues Krys is having.”

“Rocky's a real jerk. Krys has come home from work multiple times to find the door barricaded. He messes with their stuff sometimes, and he's already added so much damage to the apartment that Krys has no chance of getting the deposit back and will probably be dragged into small claims if they ever leave. And I’m pretty sure he hasn’t paid rent in a while.”

“Sounds like Krys is going to have to cut their losses.”

You nodded. Negan was probably right. You rode in silence for a few minutes. Then you said, “It won't take me long to get them after you drop me off at my car. If you still want to try to make the play, I can meet you at the theatre. I'll probably only miss the first act.”

“Where's Krys live?”

You told him.

“That's a real shit neighborhood.” 

“Yeah, Krys keeps talking about moving but never does. I'm not even sure they've looked for any places.”

“Some people put up with a lot of shit to avoid change.”

You shrugged. “I guess.”

You passed a few more minutes in silence, and then he said, “Why'd you tell Krys this wasn't a date?”

“Because it's not?” your voice turned up at the end, confused that he would even ask.

“Why not?”

“Well for one thing, I'm basically just a substitute for Gwyn tonight. You'd be with her if she hadn't blown you off because she's still hung up on Lance.” 

He bit his bottom lip and sucked air through his teeth, a light whistling sound taking up the silence as he considered your logic. Then he let his lip pop free. “Doesn't change the fact that we're here now, on said date.”

“You have a lot of dates where you roleplay with a bunch of people you just met?”

“If you're trying to figure out how often I put on a little show in the bedroom, you're just going to have to come see for yourself. I don't kiss and tell.” 

You scoffed. “You literally told me your exploits with Sherry two weeks ago.”

“Sure are keeping close tabs for someone who supposedly isn't interested.” 

You heaved another long sigh.

He chuckled. After a minute, he said, “Since you know the details of my last rendezvous, might as well tell me about yours.” 

Your last time was with the automotive guy. It had been a less than stellar experience, one you definitely weren't about to relive with Negan. “Why? So you can tell me how it would've been better if I'd been with you instead?”

He rubbed his thumb over the corner of his mouth like he was trying to rub away the impending smirk. “Well that part goes without saying.” 

Instead of giving him an eyeroll, you looked out the window. It was just after dusk, and the country highway was dark save for the occasional housing development, sparse homesteads, and streetlights here and there. 

“How long's it been for you anyway?” His jawline was vaguely reflected in the window, so you could see that he was still looking straight ahead, focused on the road. 

You cut your eyes his way. “That's none of your business.”

“How come? You said earlier that we're friends.”

“Not that kind of friends.”

“Then what kind of friends are we?”

“Sort of friends.”

“‘Sort of friends’? That some kind of girl thing?” 

“It's some kind of normal person thing.” 

“Then why don't you educate me about it?”

You sighed. “It goes Strangers,” you set your hand low like an imaginary tier and moved it up a level with each sequential label, “Acquaintances, Sort of Friends, Friends, Close Friends, Best Friends,” you finished, hand reaching just above your head.

“How are close friends and best friends different?” 

“You might have several close friends but usually only a couple of best friends, people who really know you.”

He glanced your way. “And what’s ‘sort of friends’ mean?”

“It means we're flirting with the idea of being friends but aren't there yet.”

“We've known each other for months. I think we're already there.” 

“You're like the only guy in the world trying to get in the Friend Zone right now.”

“I wouldn't say the Friend Zone is what I'm trying to get into.”

“Uh-huh.” You knew better than to ask. He’d already made clear what he was trying to get into.

“And where do fuck buddies fall on this hierarchy of friendship?" his tone clearly mocked said hierarchy.

“I don't know. Somewhere in between.”

“Well I'm hoping it's in between Sort of Friends and Friends because I've been flirting with  _ that  _ idea for a while now."

“It's good to have aspirations,” you told him. 

He laughed at you. “Don't act like you ain't tempted.” 

The temptation was the problem. So far, you’d done pretty well at rebuffing or at least redirecting his advances, but he was coming closer and closer to turning your “noes” into “yeses,” and you weren’t even sure he was trying in earnest.

“Hey,” you said a few minutes later, “you passed my turn.” 

He gave you an unimpressed look. “You think I'm going to leave you to deal with that shitbag alone?” 

“I'm just picking Krys up from the parking lot.” 

“We can pick them up together.”

“You'll miss the start of the play.”

“I seem like the type of man to lose sleep over missing a centuries old play?”

You guessed not. It had made sense that he bought the tickets since they probably would’ve impressed an English teacher, but you doubted Negan took in many plays. He wasn’t one who willingly put himself in too many situations where he had to sit still and quiet. You turned and looked at the backseat of the GTO. It wasn’t huge. “I'm not sure there's enough room back there.”

“Trust me, sweetheart. I haven't had any complaints about my backseat.”

Krys was waiting under the single lamppost in the parking lot for building F when Negan swung into the lot. They were wearing fuzzy black pajama pants with colorful cat heads all over them and a thin, oversized shirt with a fresh-faced KPOP band member on it. They were curled in on themselves, scrolling through their phone, careful to keep their head down and eyes averted as you drove in. You were guessing they didn't recognize Negan's car.

Negan parked and shrugged out of his sports jacket. “Which apartment is Krys’s?”

“Three-fourteen.”

He nodded and got out. As he did, he unbuttoned and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

“What are you doing?”

He leaned down into the open door. “Go get Krys. I'll be back in a few minutes.” He closed the door.

You opened your door and stood, turning to watch as he went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. A minute later, he pulled out a baseball bat.

Realizing his line of thinking, you said, “Negan, you can't--”

“Oh shit,” Krys said, coming to stand by the car. “Are you going to beat Rocky's ass?”

Negan winked. “Something like that.”

“Wait,” you said, moving closer, like you might be able to physically stop him. “What if he has a gun or calls the cops on you?”

Negan glanced at Krys.

They sucked their lips. “He's not smart enough to do either.”

Negan nodded. “Don't worry, Sugar. I'll be fine.” He did a fancy twirl with the bat, and then he jogged toward the building and started up the stairs.

You looked back at Krys, who had leaned against the car, eyes back on their phone, doing an infinite scroll. “You're okay with this?”

“With Negan getting me some old school vengeance? You better believe it. That jerk deserves everything that's coming to him.”

Alright then. So you had the distinction of being the level-headed one tonight. Super. “How come you haven't gotten out of this place yet?”

“Stupid lease doesn't run out until April.”

“Considering the damage Rocky's done, I doubt the lease is any good at this point.”

They lifted a shoulder. “Easier to wait it out.”

“And keep putting up with Rocky's shit?” You jumped when you heard a loud crash and a yelp from the direction of the building, jerking your head that way in alarm.

Krys remained unperturbed. “That's not them. It's the Melton kids. Their mom works all night and the dad sleeps through all the Hell they raise.”

“What does Matteo think about you staying here and dealing with Rocky’s crap?”

They looked at you and dropped the hand holding the phone to their side. “He doesn't know and he's not going to,” they emphasized the last part.

You shrugged. “Okay.”

They sighed after a minute. “His family is crazy. He still lives with them, you know.  _ All  _ of them. Both parents, three sisters, four brothers, and a set of grandparents. His mom has been after him for months already to propose. If they found out I was having issues with my living situation, we'd never hear the end of it. They’d probably try to make me move in.” Krys’s face went pale at the thought as they stared off into space at the imagined horrors.

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out. 

“It's not funny!”

“It's a little funny.” When they glared, you said, “You're head over heels for Matteo, but you'd rather stay in this crap apartment with a jerk for a roommate than make a commitment.” 

They ignored you in favor of looking at their phone. “So,” they said a minute later, “you'll never believe the latest school gossip.”

“Weekend gossip?” Sounded juicy.

They nodded. “Apparently Gwyn’s five-second date with Negan did the trick. Lance finally popped the question late last night.”

“Wow.” You were genuinely surprised and happy for them. “That's great.”

“Isn't it? And what's more interesting,” they turned to face you, “is that I heard you spent most of last night's game with a certain coach and that you left the stadium with him.” 

Krys really had their finger on the pulse of the school. “You heard about that, huh?”

They smirked and raised an eyebrow. “And then a few hours ago, I see this posted to the school Ship-stagram this morning.” They showed you the picture of Negan in your space from earlier at the farm.

“That's not what it looks like.”

“Really? So the tags BreakfastDate and ChaperoneGoals are totally inaccurate?” 

You bit your lip. “I mean, he brought me breakfast, but that was just an apology because Lexi stuck me with volunteer duty. And really, how do you even qualify chaperone goals?”

Krys looked skyward, and you realized their makeup had been running. The run-in with Rocky had shaken them up more than they were letting on. “And you say I have issues.”

You both turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. You were surprised to see Rocky and Negan together, both looking none the worse for wear. You guessed showing the bat must have been effective enough to persuade Rocky downstairs. That or Negan was just that good with his words when he put his mind to it. 

Rocky was a scrawny, pale guy with faded green shoulder length hair. He was wearing cargo shorts and a white tee that asked,  _ Who Farted? _ in large, block letters.

Negan swung his bat up on his shoulder and looked at you with a shit-eating grin as he swaggered over. Rocky still had to quicken his step to keep pace with him. “Hope we didn't keep y'all waiting long,” Negan said. He came to a stop in front of you and Krys.

Rocky stopped beside him, and after a hard look from Negan, said, “Yeah. S-sorry.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Negan said. “Rocky, you wanted to say something to Krys, didn't you?”

“Yes, uhh,” he stammered, “I'm real sorry for putting my hands on you earlier, and uh the other times.”

Krys clearly didn't know what to say. “Well thanks, that was really shitty of you.” 

Rocky nodded and dropped his eyes.

“Well,” Negan said, “now you won't have to worry about Rocky here goin' ape shit on you. Tell them the good news, Rock.”

“I'm uhh, moving out, back with my mom. I'll have my things out soon.”

“An hour,” Negan said firmly.

“Right, I'll be out in an hour.” 

You and Krys shared surprised looks.

“Like, gone for good?” Krys asked.

“Yeah, and I'll uhh, send you the back rent I owe.”

“That's right,” Negan said in a dark tone you hadn't heard him use before, one that sent an uneasy shiver down your spine, “because if you forget, I might have to pay a visit.”

Rocky visibly flinched and met Negan's eye's. “You won't have to do that,” he promised.

“Glad we have an understanding. Now, why don’t you go on up and pack since your mama will be here soon?”

Rocky nodded and started away.

“And Rocky,” Negan waited until Rocky turned back, and then slapped the baseball bat against his other hand once, “don’t go getting any ideas about barricading the door again or taking things that ain’t yours. We wouldn’t want things to get ugly tonight.”

“O-okay.” He fled back upstairs.

“So,” Negan said, turning back to you and twirling the bat before balancing the end against the toe of his boot, “while Rocky gets to packing, how about we go get some food?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking suggestions for Halloween costumes for the various characters. Thanks in advance.


	13. Chapter 13

By the time they changed clothes, retouched makeup, and grabbed their keys and wallet from the apartment while Negan stood outside, Krys was practically vibrating with excitement. With the bat safely returned to the trunk shortly after, the three of you piled into the car, Krys having to turn sideways to sit comfortably in the backseat.

You smirked at Negan, who just grinned back. 

As it turned out, Negan was familiar enough with the area to know of a taco truck that set up after sundown at an older park. Krys was more than happy to stress eat their frustrations away, and considering you'd only nibbled on Shelley's appetizers, you were getting pretty hungry yourself. 

The menu boasted a variety of fancy street tacos at barrio prices. You asked for avocado and black bean, chicken adobo, and puerco pibil tacos with an order of chilaquiles, figuring Negan would end up eating half your food anyway. He and Krys followed your lead with three tacos, plus a bottle of beer each. 

You sat at one of the park picnic tables and sipped on your drinks. There were only a couple of other tables of patrons, and some folks sat in their cars. Most everyone kept to themselves except for a group of college kids that were crowded around a couple of the cars. They were teetering on the edge of obnoxiously loud.

“So tell me how this  _ outing _ came about,” Krys said, none-too-slyly.

Negan grinned, and you couldn't help but feel they were in cahoots against you. “Well, that's quite the story--”

You cut him off. “Nothing to tell. Negan had an extra play ticket and invited himself to Shelley's for dinner.”

“Wait.” Krys put a hand up and turned to Negan. “You went to Shelley's? Willingly?” You had dragged Krys to one of the dinners in the past, and they’d refused to ever go back.

“I didn’t know what I was in for.” 

You sighed. “She's not usually like that,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “And I told you not to invite yourself.” 

“I can't even believe Shelley let you come,” Krys said. “She’s so Type A that she makes Cooking Mama over here look like a total hippie.”

They both looked at you as though trying to picture you as a hippie. Then they shared an amused look at your expense. You heard your order number or at least what sounded like it and jumped up to head for the food truck. 

You kept glancing back at the table to see what they were discussing but could only tell that your retreat had further amused them. You were so distracted that you didn't notice the woman ahead of you and ran into her back. “Oof. Sorry.” You stepped back immediately. 

She was a slight thing, a round-faced brunette with pigtails that would've been cute if she hadn't been glaring at you. “Watch where you're going, bitch.”

“Sorry,” you said again, but she'd already turned back to the window and was shouting at the clerk. 

“Where's the fucking Valentina?” She was wearing a pink hoodie with the Greek symbols for  _ Beta Tau Chi _ on the back, so you were guessing she was a sorority girl from the loud college crowd.

“We ran out,” the woman at the window said. “Bring your own hot sauce next time, like everyone else.” She looked at you. “You order seventy-six?”

“That’s me.” You took the two large paper baskets of food she offered.

The sorority girl grabbed the edge of your chilaquiles basket. “What the fuck? This looks like it's got Valentina all over it.”

Really? She thought chilaquiles were made with Valentina? 

The truck worker obviously shared your opinion as a mixture of disbelief and annoyance crossed her face. She was a heavy Latina, probably just a few years older than you. “That’s red enchilada sauce, and I'll give you a cup if you let the nice lady's food go and get out of my face.”

The girl rolled her eyes but released the basket, pushing it more firmly into your hand. You had to step back to avoid jostling the chips but managed to keep everything in it's appropriate container. You nodded your thanks to the truck worker, and retreated to the picnic table.

“No, seriously,” Negan was saying over Krys’s laughter, “that Iris gal is in the market for a stud. I'm not sure how long her wife's going to be able to put her off, but I'm fucking invested now, seeing as I was their first pick and all. Pretty much have to go to the winter dinner. Whaddya say, Sugar?” He met your eyes as you approached. “Want to go ahead and make it a date?”

“I imagine you'll have someone else lined up for that weekend,” you said, setting down your food and taking your place on the bench beside Krys.

“That's the point of planning ahead.”

“We'll see,” you said. “Maybe I'll be dating someone by then. You never know.”

He looked at you thoughtfully and scratched his chin. “Suppose not.”

“Seventy-seven and seventy-eight,” the truck worker called.

“I'll get 'em,” Negan said when Krys rose as well.

Krys sat back down and eyed you as you dug a fork into the chilaquiles. “Girl, what is wrong with you?”

“What?” you asked, taking a bite. The chicken and chips had just the right amount of smokey, spicy sauce on them, and the crema was perfect. You made a delighted sound and told Krys to try some.

“You totally just rejected him,” they said, keeping their voice low. Then they grabbed one of the plastic forks you'd brought over when you ordered and tried some of the chilaquiles. “Damn, that's good.”

“Right? Anyway, I didn't reject him. I said ‘we'll see.’” You took another bite. Angelic choirs sang in your head. “And at any rate,” you looked to make sure he was still out of earshot, “he probably needs a healthy dose of rejection every so often.” 

Krys shook their head. “No guy stands a chance with you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You waste perfectly good opportunities because you're scared of the risk.” They took another bite of your food and moaned.

“I am not afraid of taking risks.”

“Oh really? Have you said ‘yes’ to Jonah yet?”

“Well no, but I've been busy.”

“Too busy all week to text one word?”

You dropped your fork, grabbed your phone from your pocket, and swiped until you found Jonah's text thread. 

His last message from that morning read,  _ Really hoping to see you next Saturday night. Let me know if you can make it when you get the chance.  _

You texted,  _ I'm in. _ And then added,  _ Looking forward to it, _ even though you weren't really. You felt a little bad about that but pressed on. “There,” you told Krys. “We’re all going to the haunted trail next weekend.”

“Are we?” Negan asked, dropping back into his seat and sliding Krys’s basket of tacos across the table. 

You hadn't realized he was back. “Uh, not we, Krys and me.”

“And the guys,” Krys added helpfully, shooting you a serene smile when you glared at them.

“Ah,” Negan said, “the pretty boy.”

“The fireman,” you corrected.

“You mentioned that.” He took a drink of his beer and squeezed lime wedges over his tacos.

“You could always join us, Negan,” Krys said. “The more the merrier.” 

_ What the fuck, Krys? _ you tried to ask with your BestiESP. Either it didn't work, or they chose to ignore you.

“Hard pass.” Negan said, and picked up one of his tacos. 

Krys made an obvious show of looking at him pointedly before meeting your eyes again with a look that said,  _ See what I mean? _

You rolled your eyes. “Try the chilaquiles, Negan. They're delicious.” You nudged the basket toward him.

He didn't bother using the other extra fork, instead grabbing yours, which you'd left in the basket, before collecting an extra large bite and stuffing it in his mouth, his other hand still holding one of his tacos. He made his usual loud, happy eating sounds, possibly moaning a little louder than he normally did when eating food that you’d made. Then, he said, mouth still half full, “This shit’s fantastic.”

After that, things were moderately normal, and you all started in on your tacos. The food was outrageously good. Your adobo chicken taco had pineapple salsa, transforming it into a sweet and tangy treat. The pork was juicier than you'd ever managed, and even the veggies were delightful. As predicted, no sooner had you set part of a taco down to try a different one than it was snatched from your plate by Negan who had somehow managed to inhale his as quickly as possible.

Krys watched the scene with an amused eyebrow raised, and you were starting to think that maybe you needed a beer of your own after all. You drained your soda and asked who else needed refills. Krys did, but before you could escape, Negan was up, licking the fingers of one hand and brushing his other hand across your shoulders.

You focused on your last taco, ignoring Krys’s knowing smirk.

“So tell me again about how this isn’t a date.”

Before you could respond, a shrill voice snapped, “That's her, Brick. That's the bitch who took the rest of the Valentina!”

You turned to see the Valentina-obsessed girl you'd run into on the arm of a massive young man beside her. He had a buzz cut and was somehow both extremely muscular and overweight, dwarfing the girl by more than a foot. They were just a few steps away from your table. Oh shit.

The guy, who you assumed was named Brick, crossed his arms under his enormous pecs. “Listen up, lady. You better give Sophie back her valentine.”

“Valentina!” The girl--Sophie, apparently, corrected. She was listing to the side, into the guy, and obviously drunk. Great.

“Whatever,” he said.

“I don't have your sauce,” you told the girl.

She leaned down into your face and yelled, “Liar!” Before you knew what was happening, she'd grabbed what was left of your chilaquiles and bounced the basket in front of your face, causing some of the food to land in your lap.

You jumped up at the same time Krys did.

“What the fuck, you drunk, stupid jerk?” Krys asked. 

“Who’re you calling stupid?” the girl asked. “I’m not the one who’s trying to make up for my lack of hair with drag make-up.”

“I’ll show you some drag.” Krys tried to launch around you and at the girl, but you held them back, knowing someone was going to be filming any minute and not willing to lose your favorite coworker because of a sophomoric sorority girl. 

“Chill out, Krys. She’s not worth it.” You stared the girl down. “You need to back off.”

“Or what? Brick?” She tossed the food basket back onto the table and put her hands on her hips. “Are you just going to let these ugly asses threaten me like that?”

Brick moved to step toward you, but before you could react, he was facedown on the table, and Negan had the guy's arm twisted up behind his back in what looked like a pretty painful hold. Food flew all over, and you and Krys instinctively jumped back, but Sophie was either too drunk, too slow, or just too stupid to move and ended up with splashes of red all over her hoodie.

“Looks like you got the sauce you wanted,” Krys couldn't resist saying.

Sophie leapt at you both, hands stretched out as though she intended to grab and scratch anything in her reach, but her shin ran into the table bench, and she tripped, falling to the ground.

“You picked the wrong table to fuck with tonight,” Negan said lowly into the guy’s ear. “You got about thirty seconds to get you and your girl out of here before things get real bad for you.” At least, you were pretty sure that’s what he said. It was hard to hear over the whimpering sounds the guy was making.

After a minute, Brick nodded and sniffled a couple of times.

Then Negan backed off, allowing the guy to stand. “You two okay?” Negan asked, looking at you and Krys. 

“We're fine.”

Krys nodded their agreement.

Brick helped Sophie up and stumbled through some generic apologies, while Sophie yelled and cried and wiggled, trying to launch herself back at you and Krys. They quickly made their way back to the college crowd, where everyone turned to look back at your group. There were two or three other big guys with them, and they might’ve pushed the issue, but you heard someone mutter the word “coach,” as they discussed their options. And after another minute, the college kids piled into their cars and peeled out of the lot.

“What the fuck was that about?” Negan asked.

You shrugged, looking at the mess of food strewn across the table. “Hot sauce, I think.”

He looked back and forth between you and Krys, who was just standing there, arms out in a confused stance. Then he shook his head. “Sugar, I can't take you anywhere.”

“What? It wasn't my fault. She was crazy.”

He raised a brow.

“What?” 

He chuckled and pulled you in for a side hug. “How about we call it a night?”

Krys looked at you with laughter in their eyes and said, “Yeah,  _ Sugar _ , I've had plenty of excitement for one night, too.”

After cleaning up the table, you headed back to drop Krys off. Negan double-checked the apartment, but aside from being dirtier than usual, there weren’t any signs of Rocky. He'd cleared out most of the junk from his room and had left the key on the coffee table. Krys thanked Negan about twenty times before letting you leave.

Back in the car and alone with Negan again, butterflies started fluttering around in your stomach. It was odd because you'd spent the whole night with him, but you were only now feeling the anxiety...or maybe it was anticipation. You were glad you didn’t live far from Krys. 

The opportunity to make Shakespeare had long since passed. At this point, you wouldn't be able to make it into town before the last act started. That meant that your night was ending early even though it seemed to have been ages since you'd opened your door to him. 

“I can’t believe you did that for Krys,” you said when the silence finally got to you. “Rocky has been their bane for a while now. He was getting more and more aggressive lately.”

“They don’t have to worry about him. He won’t be back.”

You wondered how he could be so sure. “What’d you say to him?”

He grinned and bit his lip. “That’s between me and him.”

You shook your head slightly, letting him keep the secrets of his persuasion. You’d seen him in action a little with that big guy Brick from earlier anyway. “Oh, I guess we never thanked you for the assist with the other two crazies.”

He chuckled. “This has been one wild ass night, that’s for sure. Craziest first date I’ve ever been on.”

“Definitely.”

“What was that?” he turned to look at you as he pulled into your drive and parked.

“I agreed. This has definitely been a crazy…” you trailed off, realizing what he’d said. 

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, sweetheart.”

Despite his light tone, his eyes were serious, and you dropped your gaze to focus on undoing your seatbelt. Somehow, your fingers forgot how to work the thing, and you struggled. He reached over to click it open, and you snatched your hand away quickly, blushing hotly with embarrassment. You couldn’t believe your nerves were so out of control. You were a grown ass woman, for Heaven’s sake. 

“You going to invite me in?” he asked once you were free.

“Not tonight.”

Even though you refused to look up, you could hear the grin in his tone, “I'll walk you up, see if I have any luck turning that ‘no’ into a ‘yes.’”

You were overly aware of his hand at your back as he walked you up the two steps to your porch that was really more of a stoop. You felt your breathing start to pick up. This was it. You would just tell him goodnight and he would leave. Things would be fine, you told yourself, back to normal come Monday morning. He was just teasing about you inviting him in anyway. You shook the nerves off and turned to face him. 

He reached for you then, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck before he stepped into your space. You had about a split second to pull away, but instead of listening to reason, you stayed right where you were, letting his other arm settle behind you. “Know what I been thinking about all night?”

You gave him a wry look. “I think I can wager a pretty good guess.”

“Well, there is that.” He ran his fingertips up over the base of your skull, sending surprising little shivers across your skin. “But all those thoughts start with us picking up where we left off, before we headed to Shelley’s.”

You might’ve thought about those kisses a time or two yourself. Probably a time or two an hour if you were being honest. Your brain had a real issue with self-control. 

Your friends had made it pretty clear that whatever was going on between you and Negan looked like a lot more from the outside than it actually was on the inside. You weren’t sure what to do about that aside from limiting your time with him here on out. You should probably do that anyway if you were serious about sticking with your plan to stay out of his bed. The problem was that Negan made things too easy. Easy grins, easy banter, easy touches. But one step too far, and things would get a lot harder, moreso for you than for him.

He leaned in so that his lips hovered over yours, just like last night except this time, you knew exactly what he was doing, and you weren’t a few steps away from a crowd of people. There was no extra veil of safety that a public place provided, and the idea of going inside for complete privacy was becoming more appealing by the second. “Why don't you ask me in?” he asked again.

“I don't think that's a good idea.” 

“I bet your cat thinks it’s a good idea.”

“She's a cat. She doesn't know what's good for her.”

You felt his grin. “I'd love to learn all about what's good for your pussy.” 

“Jesus.” The lewd suggestion shouldn't have sent a zing between your legs but did. You pulled back, but his hands kept you in place, and he finally closed the distance between your lips.

For a second, it felt great, but he picked up speed quickly, mouth moving roughly against yours like he had a point to prove. He sucked one of your lips into his mouth, letting it scrape along his teeth until you felt the slightest sting. Startled at the tone and pace, you started to pull back, but his hands kept you from retreating. And then you felt something change in his body, like the hard edges were melting away. He released your lips and kissed the corners of your mouth gently. "Show me," he breathed against your skin.

Show him? Did he mean like earlier? Negan, who was always so sure of himself and always in control was willing to cede some of it to you? The idea turned you on like crazy. 

You laid a hand against his chest and wrapped the other behind his neck, leaning up into him. He waited for you to press your lips back against his, but as soon as you did, he met you measure for measure. The strange thing was that the less demanding he was, the more you wanted to demand from him. You worked your hand into his hair, rubbing the back of his head. You’d been thinking about it all night, how good his hair felt brushing through your fingers, and how it had made him respond to you.

His response didn’t disappoint this time either. He walked you a couple of steps back, until you were dimly aware of the door behind you. His hand at your back slid down to your hip, urging you closer against him. He tilted his head to the side, mouth open and inviting. You took his invitation.

You weren’t sure how much time passed as the two of you stood on your front porch making out. There was a lot of hot and heavy breathing and very little coherent thinking aside from wondering whether it would be closer to move things to your couch or bed. That thought and the warm hand creeping up your bare thigh finally brought you out of the fog, and you pulled back.

Negan was not done. He kissed a line from your jaw to your ear. A moan slipped from your lips when he kissed the spot just behind your ear and then sucked your earlobe into his mouth, teeth barely grazing it. Then he started a trail down and across your neck, mouth soothing the tender skin that his scruff scraped. You arched into him further as he gave your other ear the same treatment. You felt your insides starting to twist as you got really worked up really fast.

“Negan,” you managed to get out.

He said your name in response, all deep and husky, a sound that shot straight to your core.

You had to do a lot of hard thinking to logic your way out of this one. Your body told you several things: Negan felt good. He smelled good. He knew what he was doing. Moreover, he was paying close attention to what you liked and disliked. If you let him in, you were going to have a great night. 

But your mind eventually reminded you, as Negan began kissing his way down your chest, that you were getting attached to him. Despite the fact that he was a playboy, he was a pretty good sort of friend. He’d even meshed well with your other friends. Negan was easy to like, and based on the broken hearts he’d left in his wake around the school, hearts of women who were smart enough to know what they were getting into just like you, he was easy to fall in love with. You didn’t want to end up like them.

“Negan,” you said again, more firmly, and wedged both hands between you, pushing against his chest.

He finally backed off and looked down at you, eyes going for a moment to the skin of your neck, no doubt red from his facial hair. Then he met your gaze and seemed to read the decision you’d come to. He let out a long breath. “You sure?”

You nodded.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and leaned back. “Tell me you don't want me.”

“You know that's not the issue.”

“How about you spell it out for me?”

“You want to screw around, and you've got a whole fleet of women, ready and willing to take whatever you'll give them.”

“But you're not one of 'em.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms over yourself as he finally took a step back.

He looked down for a minute, searching for his words. You were half expecting him to invite himself in again to continue the conversation, so he surprised you when he said, “What if I wanted to do more than just fuck around?”

You floundered for a couple of moments. “Do you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck like he was particularly irritated. “I don't fucking know.”

“Well,” you said, taking out your key, “let me know when you do.” Holding onto what little resolve you had, you opened the door and went in, forcing yourself to close it behind you without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things: First, if you like to read the guy's POV and haven't seen it already, you can see some of Negan's thoughts in the companion piece Spice, which should be linked somewhere in this vicinity if AO3 is doing it's thing. 
> 
> Second, I'm coming up on a busy time at work for the next couple of weeks. I try to get one of these in at least once a week, but if I don't get an update in next week, that's why. On the bright side, after the busy stuff comes a break, which usually means I have more time to write.
> 
> Last, thanks to everyone for continuing to read, and a special thanks to all those who take the extra time to comment. You keep me going.


	14. Chapter 14

Negan killed Mr. Happy. 

Okay, to be fair, he'd never even seen said vibrator, but when the toy petered out in the middle of the intense one-on-one you'd been having, you'd cursed Negan's name in frustration. After all, it was his fault for leaving you sexually frustrated. 

Alright, again, an outsider might argue that it was your own resolve to not sleep with him that was to blame. But you firmly believed he shared half of it. You thought about marching right up to him Monday morning and demanding he replace your broken toy. 

“I'd be more than happy to replace it, right now, Sugar,” he would purr low in your ear before dragging you off to some storage room where he’d spend the next while showing you all the ways in which he outperformed Mr. Happy. These ways would include but were not limited to using his mouth on you, slipping his hands and fingers all over and into you, letting the filthiest words you’d ever heard fall from his lips, and--your personal favorite--fucking you against every wall and hard surface in the room, all of which would be intermingled with the hottest kisses you’d had in your life, like the ones from last night. Your mind seemed to be filled with endless possibilities when it came to Negan, or perhaps he was just particularly good inspiration.

And your freshman comp professor had claimed you had no imagination. If only she were privy to your thoughts now. Actually, sharing your fantasies with a decrepit professor whose only love affair was with a red ink pen sounded less than appealing. Too bad you hadn't had a handsome male English professor.

Hmm, Negan the demanding English professor. Now  _ there _ was a fantasy. He'd bend you over his desk and teach you a thing or two about Transcendentalism and seeking enlightenment. You'd be his star pupil, all too eager to learn.

Yep. That vision got the libido nice and keyed up. You let your fingers treat you to the morning orgasm that Mr. Happy had denied. Then you forced yourself into the shower where you gave into another round of digital stimulation. Finally clean of body if not of mind, you checked your phone.

Krys had texted, several times.

**9:17 a.m.** _If you screwed Negan, I want the details._

 **9:34 a.m.** _Just to sate curiosity, how about sending a cute morning-after selfie? Maybe with your head on his chest? I recommend the soft rose filter._

 **10:02 a.m.** _Apropos of nothing, there may or may not be a cutest 'ship pic contest._

 **11:43 a.m.** _Dying from suspense over here. You’d better be doing some tantric crap. I am one step from attempting to drive this fucking stick to your place and finding out for myself._

 **12:22 p.m.** _Found the keys. May my death be on your head forever. My ghost will curse you with bad hair and running mascara for the rest of your days._

The last one had come in just a few minutes ago. You texted back,  _ What's the contest prize? _

_ R E C O G N I T I O N.  _

_ Also, _ said their next message,  _ there might be a $100 gift certificate to Sue Ellen's, plus a reservation. _

Sue Ellen's was the only bistro and tea room in the county. As a result, it was outrageously priced and always packed.

_ Shouldn't you be entering FireGlamour pics? _ you asked.

_ Well, duh, but with the Camelot engagement, I gotta hedge my bets. Gwyn’s totally going to bring it with something from the Renaissance fair or some Santa's sleigh BS. It'll be 100% Hallmark. CoachSugar is like forbidden fruit. It'll give them a run for their money. _

You were sure about the forbidden fruit part, but not so much about the rest. 

_ Still waiting on that afterglow pic, btw, _ they prompted. 

You rolled your eyes.  _ We didn't do anything. _ Much.

Your phone rang a minute later. “Hey, Krys.”

They made a sound of disgust. “Are you freaking kidding me? Do you know how keyed up he probably was after getting all macho with Rocky and that asshole at the taco truck? Not to mention the sexual tension that was radiating off you guys. I almost smothered to death from the pheromones you two were putting off when I was stuck in the backseat.”

You couldn't help but laugh at Krys’s theatrics. “And yet you were able to bitch about Matteo's nature weekend all the way there and replay the whole Valentina girl thing coming back.”

“If I hadn't pumped that steady stream of CO2 in the car, you two would've made us all combust. I mean, if Matteo's phone hadn’t been off--fucking nature bullshit--I'd've for sure made him come over so I could defile his ass.”

“Wow, Krys. Thanks for that visual.”

They smacked their lips. “So tell me what happened last night, and I'll tell you where you went wrong.”

“What makes you think I did something wrong?”

“Honey, what is Negan known for?”

“Taking the baseball team to State?” 

You could feel their "please" look through the phone, not doubting for a second that they'd propped a hand on their hip. 

You sighed. “Fucking around.” 

“Damn straight. And from what I hear, he does not fuck around when it comes to that. So what did you do?”

You recalled the evening's events, not just the kiss goodnight, but the whole thing, starting from when he picked you up and baited you into kissing him the first time, including the choicest (aka craziest) highlights from dinner, and then wrapping up with the front porch fiasco. 

Krys whistled lowly when you were done. “I can't believe he did that.”

“I know, right? Mr. Happy was the best vibrator I've ever had. Like, maybe the best action I've ever had. I feel like maybe I should have a funeral for him or something, at least award him a medal for all his dedicated service. He did die in action, after all.”

“Yes to the funeral, no to the medal. If Mr. Happy's the best you've had, we've got larger issues than this Negan thing, and I meant I can't believe he was all respectful and shit.”

“Well Negan isn't exactly disrespectful. He's just an asshole half the time.”

“Think about those sad chicks who come eat cookies and unload on us when he’s done with them. What do they all have in common?”

You thought for a moment. “They're easy?”

“Well, duh. What else?”

“Daddy issues?”

“I swear,” they threatened.

The women who usually came by were the ones who’d let their hearts get involved. They would talk about how charming and considerate he’d been the whole time he’d pursued them. They were always so sure things with Negan would last past the one weekend. And then he was gone on Sunday morning and onto the next woman. “They thought they'd be the one to change him.”

“And?”

“They never get what they want from him.”

“But he always gets what he wants from them, right?”

“I guess.”

“And did Negan get what he wanted from you last night?” Krys had taken on that tone that you reserved for the teens when they were being particularly obtuse. You did not appreciate it.

“Sure he did. He wanted someone to hang out with for the evening.”

Krys groaned and spat out a lot of sloppy-sounding Spanish words that you didn't understand. You guessed Matteo's lessons were finally paying off. You sometimes wished you'd learned Spanish, but you'd gone with French because of the cooking thing, and French and Spanish didn't really get along. But you’d watched enough telenovelas to know that whatever they’d said probably wasn't flattering toward you.

They took a deep, audible breath. “Is there honestly some part of you that's still in denial about the fact that Negan would've fucked you until you couldn't walk if you'd let him in last night?”

You sighed. There had been one holdout left last night, before you'd had a chance to replay the evening over and over and spend the hours thereafter fantasizing about him. As you padded into your tiny kitchen, Kitty roused from her spot on the couch and followed you, meowing accusations of near-starvation caused by your refusal to get out of bed. You covered the phone and told the cat to blame it on her latest love interest then emptied a can of food into her bowl.

“Are you talking to your cat again?”

“Of course, because she is so cute,” you said the last part in a ridiculously high voice. You reached down to pet Kitty, who gave you a look that was a mixture of reproach (for deigning to interrupt her meal, you plebian, you) and approval (because you sought to touch the divine). 

You heard Krys sigh heavily into the phone.

So much for stalling. “I'm sure Negan would've rocked my world.” You wondered where he stood on stamina. Could he outlast Mr. Happy? 

“And yet he stopped.”

“Yeah, because I told him to.”

“Uhhuh, and isn't this the guy who told you he prided himself on turning ‘noes’ into ‘yeses.’”

“He might've said something like that.” A time or two. “But he wasn’t successful.”

“And you're saying he wasn't close at all to getting a ‘yes’ out of you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

They laughed. “Doesn’t work with besties, babe.” Damn BestiESP, always screwing you over one way or another. “So what're you going to do?”

“Nothing. I made it clear I don't want to just mess around, and he doesn't even know what he wants,” you said, scooping coffee into the filter above the pot and praying the coffee maker would actually work for once. “But even if he did want more, his track record doesn't exactly evoke a lot of confidence. I mean, he cheated on his dying wife, right?” 

“That's what the rumors say. But by that logic, no one who ever cheats deserves a second chance.”

“It's a pretty big risk.” You poured water into the reservoir and turned on the maker. The light came on, so that was a good sign.

“I'm glad you said that, because I'd like to enter into evidence,” they said, taking on a very official-sounding tone, “our conversation from last night, remarking on your reluctance toward taking said risks.”

You scrubbed a hand through your still-wet hair. “Yeah, yeah, I made the date with Jonah, didn't I?” 

“I wouldn't consider dating Jonah much of a risk. He's pretty much a what you see is what you get sort of guy. I mean, hot, for sure, and doesn't hurt that he's got Matteo's values. But a risk? Not so much.”

“You said I should go out with him.”

“I said you should go out with  _ someone _ , take a chance, live. Stop putting your life on hold because you’re afraid of a little heartache.”

“You sure are a fount of wisdom and encouragement today.”

“I know, right?” You could hear them preening. “I think it's from dropping the dead weight that was Rocky. Like, the apartment has a totally different feel to it. I'm gonna burn the rest of his stuff and then smudge the shit out of this place later.”

“Nice.” The coffee maker was not singing the song of sweet, sweet, percolation. This was almost as bad as Mr. Happy’s demise.

“We should hit up the magic shop in the mall. I need sage.”

“Today?”

“Definitely. I mean unless you have big Sunday plans.” 

You didn't. “I suppose I can squeeze you in, sometime in between Mr. Happy's funeral and my own pity party.”

They laughed. “Cancel the pity party. That's what the retail therapy and frozen yogurt are for.”

“Are people still doing the frozen yogurt thing?”

“Frozen yogurt, Boba tea, rolled ice cream, whatever fad food we come to first. How about you come pick me up so I don't murder us trying to persuade the stick into action?”

You found this plan acceptable. If nothing else, you could get some caffeine without having to fight your coffee machine. And anything that helped get your mind off the Negan dilemma would be a welcome distraction. Damn. You'd almost gone a whole thirty seconds without thinking about him. 

“Just for the record,” Krys said, “if you decide you're willing to take a more sizable risk, you could do a lot worse than Negan.”

They weren’t wrong. The question was, would Negan be willing to take a risk too?

You sighed and told Krys you'd be over in half an hour. Their place was only a handful of minutes away, but you needed a few extra to prepare yourself for the poor choices you were about to make.


	15. Chapter 15

Spending a few hours at the mall with your bestie helped. Krys tried on all the glittery products in the fancy makeup shop and then started using you as a canvas when they ran out of space. As a result, you were highlighted, bronzed, and shadowed to suit their tastes. You both lost your minds in the food court, splurging on all your favorites and splitting various fad drinks and desserts. All in all, it was a great time, culminating in a trip to The Majiik Shoppe, which was really just an eclectic gift shop in the mall that happened to carry a variety of mystical items, most of which were overpriced in your opinion. Among other items, they carried the sage that Krys wanted to use to smudge their apartment.

As you poked around the store, being careful to avoid touching anything that looked breakable--really, who was paying $476 for a crystal divining rod?--Krys updated the shop clerk on all their latest drama.

“But my girl here,” they said, tugging on your sleeve when you wandered too close, “has a real problem.”

“Oh?” The dark-skinned clerk, an older woman with white hair that she kept in an honest to God beehive, turned an expectant look on you.

“Uh, no, I’m good,” you told them.

“Good?” Krys huffed, sparing you a side glance before intoning to the clerk, “She’s got  _ man problems _ .”

The woman looked you up and down, appraising you in a way only Kitty ever had. “I see that.” She narrowed her eyes. “Bedroom troubles,” she said, extending a long index finger your way.

“Well, not really, I--”

The clerk cut you off. “I got just the thing for that,” she said, pulling out a tall, white box. There was nothing on the outside to indicate what it might be.

“Really,” you insisted, “I don’t need--”

This time, Krys cut you off. “What is it?”

“A candle,” replied the clerk.

“A candle?” you wondered, now intrigued, against your better judgement. “How’s that supposed to help in the bedroom?”

“I see you brought me a skeptic,” she said to Krys, and then faced you. “Burn this candle at sunset tonight,” she said, now drawing out each vowel as she tapped a blood red fingernail on the box, “and think about your troubles. Get a good night’s sleep. And within ten days of the full moon, you'll have the solution to these man problems.”

Right. 

Even though Krys was nodding eagerly, hanging on every word the woman said, you could tell she wasn’t convinced by your nod. She narrowed her eyes at you again as Krys nudged you. 

“I think I’ll pass,” you said after a moment.

They both smacked their lips at you.

Then Krys waved a hand. “Add it to my haul," they told the clerk before turning to you. “You’ll use it if I get it for you, right?”

“I mean, I…” you trailed off as the clerk and Krys stared you down, hands at their hips, obviously making certain judgements about why you had "bedroom troubles" in the first place. “Yeah, fine,” you agreed finally. You weren't planning to keep your word, but what Krys didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

They both gave you satisfied nods, and a few moments and some final impulse purchases later (on Krys’s part), you were ready to head out. But before you could leave, the shopkeeper snatched your wrist and said, “Be sure to burn it until it goes out by itself. Otherwise, you could risk more troubles than you started with.”

More troubles? Yeah, you weren’t about to risk that. You already had enough of those. Properly warned, you followed Krys out.

As you left the mall, you were sorely tempted to suggest to Krys that you swing by Lily White's, the sex shop that Iris and Roxy owned, so that you could try to find a replacement for your broken vibrator. But you were concerned that Iris might try to question you about Negan, and you didn't think you could handle it right then. Besides, it hadn't even been 24 hours since Mr. Happy had bitten the dust. You figured he had earned a slightly longer mourning period after all the faithful hours of service he'd put in.

Instead of swinging by the sex shop, you and Krys treated yourselves to an hour in the fancy grocery store, the one that played Vivaldi on loop, offered complimentary gourmet coffee, cheese, and wine samples, and gave you paper bags with sturdy handles for your goods. You picked up a few ingredients for a couple of new recipes you were wanting to try while Krys grabbed bagged salad, bread, and some premade eggplant parmesan to toss in the oven for Matteo. Three comically tiny cups of warm, organic apple cider, some blueberry cobbler flavored coffee, and thirteen different cheese cubes later, you finished up in the store and dropped Krys off on your way home.

You were looking forward to going home and spending the rest of your Sunday evening relaxing before you had another long week of work. You’d try out one of the new recipes and snuggle with Kitty. And you most certainly would not light the “bedroom trouble” candle. 

What you weren't expecting, as you turned onto your road, was to see a familiar GTO in your driveway, the late afternoon sun glinting off the car's trunk. Negan was leaning back against said trunk, hands docked in the pockets of his jeans. 

Your stomach flipped itself into another dimension. There was a split second where you thought you were hallucinating--had your fantasies from the morning and constant errant thoughts somehow conjured up the man himself? Surely you weren’t that far gone. 

Once you accepted reality, you briefly entertained the idea of passing by your own place and finding somewhere to hide out until he left. But it was obvious when he waved at you that he had already seen you. Ready or not, you were going to have to deal with him. 

As you squeezed your car into the spot beside his, you couldn’t help but think back to last night. Even with all the lights, noises, and crowds of patrons at the mall today, you hadn’t been able to keep your mind completely off of him. You’d given it a valiant effort, of course, but he’d burrowed pretty far under your skin, and trying to compartmentalize thoughts of Negan was about as easy as wrangling the man himself.

Last night, he’d said he didn’t know what he wanted when it came to whatever was going on between the two of you. But it had seemed like maybe he was toying with the idea of something more than just sex, which didn’t sound like Negan at all. You weren’t sure which potential outcome scared you more: forming an attachment to him (more than the one you already had) and eventually being jilted, or attempting an actual relationship with him. Until last night, you’d thought the latter wasn’t even a possibility.

Knuckles wrapped against your window, startling you from your thoughts. You realized you were wringing the steering wheel and let it go, turning your head toward your window.

Negan had hunched down so he was at eye level. “I been standing out here in your driveway like an asshole for twenty minutes,” he said, voice muffled by the glass between you. “How much longer you planning to make me wait?” 

You glared and opened the door. “You know, most people call before just showing up out of the blue.”

He smirked at your ire. “You take me for some sort of amateur? I know better than to give you a chance to come up with an excuse to get out of it.”

You rolled your eyes, surprised at how easily the usual banter fell back into place. After last night, you'd worried the days of playful Negan were long gone. It would seem you had agonized over nothing. “I wouldn’t have come up with an excuse.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting you know he saw straight through your claim.

You huffed. You really needed better friends, ones that didn't feel the need to call you on your bullshit 24/7. “What are you doing here, Negan?” You really hadn't expected to see him so soon. You had thought you might have a few days at least to put your walls solidly back in place.

“You know what I’m here for.” He glanced in your backseat, finally moving back enough for you to get out of the car without stepping right into him. “Looks like you need a hand with these groceries anyway.”

“I can manage,” you told him.

He didn’t bother replying, instead opening the backdoor and loading his arms with your bags.

Resigning yourself to the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere, you closed your door and headed for the porch. 

He crowded in close behind you while you dug for your keys. “Never thought I’d have such fond memories of a doorstep, but now that we’re here,” he took a sharp breath, “it’s all flooding back. Think we ought to relive the high points of last night?”

“I think we should keep our hands to ourselves tonight.”

“Well, shit.”

You finally opened the door and told him which counter to set the bags on.

“Looks like you’re planning to cook something good,” he said, making an obvious show of checking the contents of your bags. “Don’t suppose you got enough to share?”

You shrugged. “Maybe if I’d had a heads up that you were coming, I might’ve.”

“You going to turn away a starving man? I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.” 

You rolled your eyes, sure that he was being at least a little dramatic. “I was planning to bake some fish and veggies.”

“Sounds delicious.”

Okay, dinner with a friend--err--sort of friend, who could maybe be more than a friend. You could do this, you told yourself. This was perfectly normal. Sure, your heart had skipped a beat when you’d seen him standing outside your place. And maybe you were already a little turned on, just by being near him, but that wasn’t much of a surprise given that he’d played a leading role in your fantasy sex life of late. 

Negan stood back and watched you unload groceries for a minute. He was looking particularly good tonight in a pair of jeans and a slightly fitted white tee. He had some kind of product in his hair, and you found yourself wondering if it would feel stiff to the touch when you ran your fingers through it again like you longed to do.

“Need some help?”

“I got it.” If nothing else, cooking would help center you. You preheated the oven and grabbed a pan and some other things you needed to prepare the food.

He watched from a few feet away, and when you glanced at him, you could see a smile playing at his mouth. At this rate, this was going to be the most difficult meal you’d ever made.

“I’m assuming you came here for some other reason besides inviting yourself to eat fish?” You saw his eyes light up with mischief at your words and rushed to cut him off. “I swear, if you make some vulgar comment about eating fish, you aren’t getting any,” you punctuated the threat with a shake of the chef’s knife you were preparing to chop vegetables with.

“Sounds like your mind’s already done the work for me, Sugar,” he winked. “But just so we’re clear, when you say I’m not ‘getting any’...?” he trailed off in question.

You narrowed your eyes. “Food, Negan, you aren’t getting any food.”

“So sex is still on the table?”

“I haven’t changed my mind since last night. Have you made yours up?” There. You’d thrown the question out there. 

“That’s what I came to talk about. I got a couple of ideas of how we might handle our little situation here,” he said, stepping into your space, “but no sense in trying to suss it out on an empty stomach.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the excitement that immediately started coursing through your system as your body reacted to his proximity. You wanted to reach for him, to see if his hands and mouth felt as good now as they had last night. Instead, you focused on chopping veggies.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “those pretty little sounds you were making last night gave me plenty to think about. Maybe you really were a pornstar in another life.”

You sighed heavily. “How about you open the wine?” You waved vaguely in the direction where you thought the bag was. It was getting closer and closer to sundown, and having Negan in your home after dark was going to seriously tax your resolve. You were going to make the food as quickly as possible and then rush him out.

As you went about preparing the fish, he rummaged through the remaining bags. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up the white box from The Majiik Shoppe.

“A candle Krys bought me.”

“Want me to light it? Set the mood?”

“You can light it, but I don’t think a candle’s going to change my mind.”

“I’ve changed minds with less.”

You laughed and shook your head. He got points for trying.

“Holy shit. What in the fuck?”

You looked up from tossing the chopped vegetables with olive oil and herbs to see what he was asking about. When you saw what was in his hand, your eyes nearly bugged out of your head, and you dropped the spatula into the pan. “Oh my God, what is that?” 

He held a tall, thick, red candle cast in the shape of a penis. “You know, sweetheart, I had a feeling, based on how easily you've been able to reject my advances, that you might be unfamiliar with one of these. This,” he said, presenting it with a flourish, “is what a dick looks like.” He examined it a little closer. “Well, sort of.”

“I  _ know _ what it is,” you assured him. “What I don’t know is why you’re holding a penis shaped candle.” And then you remembered the pitying look from the clerk, the promise that the candle would help with your “bedroom troubles,” and you groaned. This could not be happening to you.

Negan was downright gleeful as he continued to tease you. “You think Krys wants you to use this for some sort of dick-summoning spell? Because you already got a sure thing right here.”

You sighed heavily. “It’s supposed to help with my,” you searched for a phrase that wasn’t  _ bedroom troubles _ and came up with, “lovelife.” Yeah, lovelife. Maybe that’d scare him off.

He looked at the candle and then looked back at you. “I got a few ideas of how we might use this thing to improve your lovelife,” he made an obvious show of looking between the candle and you, “but how about you tell me what you’re  _ supposed  _ to do with it?”

You felt heat creeping up as your mind headed for the same gutter his own tended to inhabit. “I'm supposed to burn it at sundown, and then in like a week or something, my problems will be solved.” You shrugged.

“Huh, kind of anticlimactic, ain’t it? You’d think you’d at least have to--”

“Negan, if you suggest I pleasure myself with that candle, I'm going to tell you exactly where you can shove it.”

He let out a low whistle. "That pretty head of yours is full of  _ vulgar _ suggestions tonight, isn't it? And here I was, only thinking you might say some sort of love spell over it.”

Sure he was. You narrowed your eyes. “Give me my candle.” You moved toward him.

“Now, now, don’t be hasty.” He held it away as you approached. “It’s just about sunset now. And since I’ve got a stake in said lovelife, might as well light it now.”

“I am not lighting that thing with you here.”

“How come? I admit it ain’t going to be easy to look at a burnin’ dick, but sacrifices must be made.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. You were so going to kill Krys.

Negan was grinning, eyes sparkling as he held the candle and waited to see what you would do next. You were only a few feet from him now, and a step or two closer, you’d be in arm’s reach. If last night had taught you anything, it was that he excelled at taking advantage of your physical proximity. As much as part of you really, really wanted to pick up where you’d left off last night, you knew that getting any closer to him was probably a bad idea. 

After a moment, you stepped back. “Fine. We’ll light it.”

He smirked. “Gotta say, Sugar, you never disappoint. One night, you’re a pornstar pregnant with my babies, and the next, we’re lighting a dick on fire and trying to fix your lovelife.”

You huffed as you went to the junk drawer and dug out a lighter and the corkscrew. You were going to need a lot of wine to get through this.

Half an hour later, the bulbous head of the penis candle had already melted completely, red wax dripping down its veiny sides. Negan had set it on a small plate on the corner of your coffee table. He was now perched on your uncomfortable, second hand armchair and had left you the couch, which was nice. You’d selected the spot farthest from him and were on your second glass of wine.

Negan held his plate and ate quietly, at least for him, which is to say that he didn’t talk with food in his mouth most of the time but still kept a running commentary. “Fuck, this is good. I swear, there is something undeniably sexy about a gal who knows her way around a kitchen,” he told you after polishing off half the food on his plate. 

You thanked him for the compliment and tried to ignore the rush of pleasure his words gave you.

The rest of the dinner preparations had been comparatively uneventful. While waiting for the food, he had sat and pet your cat, who’d lapped up every moment of his attention. She’d protested vehemently when you put her up with her dinner in your bedroom so that she wouldn’t beg for your dinner. 

You and Negan had talked of relatively tame topics, mostly school and community stuff, keeping things light. You tried to recapture that same tone as you ate your food, but you felt the familiar apprehension from last night starting to creep in.

“So I been thinking,” Negan finally said as he finished his fish, “about what you said.”

That covered a fair amount of territory. “I’m going to need you to narrow that down.”

“About us being sort of friends. I don’t think we can do that.”

You blinked. That threw you for a loop. You hadn’t thought he would want to cut off things completely, just because you wouldn’t have sex with him. “Why not?”

“Well for someone who claims she doesn’t go around kissing her friends, your lips sure have a tough time staying away from mine.”

“And if you'll recall, you instigated the majority of the kissing.”

“Didn’t hear any complaints, sweetheart.”

You hadn’t had any.

“But you and me just ain’t going to cut it as friends.”

Was he seriously breaking off your friendship before it’d even really begun? “So you’re saying that because I won’t have sex with you, we can’t be friends anymore?” You felt unexpected, angry tears prickling behind your eyes. 

He blinked. “Jesus. Are you serious?” He stared at you for a moment and saw that you were. “No, that ain’t what I’m saying. Give me a little fucking credit here, Sugar. I don’t ice women out just ‘cause they won’t spread their legs for me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. Apparently your irritation was contagious.

“Okay, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.” You took a breath. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I don’t do relationships, and you don’t fuck around, right?”

You nodded at his statement of the obvious.

“So maybe we’re sort of friends with benefits. What do you think of that?”

“Friends with benefits never works,” you told him.

“You tried it?”

“I’ve seen it in action with other friends.”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t work with us. What we got going on here,” he motioned between the two of you, “when we touch each other, ain’t everyday stuff. Shame not to see where it takes us.”

You sighed. “I have a pretty good idea of where it’ll take us.”

“If you had the same idea as me, you’d already be wet, naked, and spread out on that couch.”

The image sent a spark of heat down your spine, and you felt your walls tighten in response. You sucked in a breath and reached for your wine. “I mean, after the sex, when you get it out of your system,” you said, keeping your eyes on the glass in your hand, “and I’m the one sitting around eating icecream and cookies and nursing a broken heart.” Silence hung between the two of you, and you finally took a drink before setting down your glass. 

After a moment, he stood and then sank down beside you on the couch. “Could end up the other way around, you breaking my heart instead.”

You laughed. “Doubtful. Besides, you still have weeks of dates lined up.” You hadn’t forgotten that he’d managed to fill up his weekends until at least Thanksgiving, this coming weekend being the only exception. 

“How about we try something different then?” 

“Like what?” you asked.

“Like friends with  _ exclusive  _ benefits. No more dates with other people, just you and me.”

You finally turned and met his eyes. “Negan, that’s a relationship.”

“Not if we don’t call it that.” He seemed pretty proud of the suggestion.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I never thought you would be one who cared much about semantics.”

“I guess we ain’t got to label it, long as we have an understanding.”

You thought about what he was offering and your earlier conversation with Krys. You knew Negan was a good guy, were sure he’d be a great lover, but you weren’t sure how he would measure as a...you thought about it for a second. What would he be? A sort of boyfriend? You were probably too old to be using the term “boyfriend.”

There was also the string of women he’d slept with to consider. You weren’t going to make the mistake of thinking you’d be the one to make him reconsider all the wild oat sowing he so enjoyed doing. In a few weeks, a new teacher or staff member, or maybe even a new kid’s mom would show up, and he’d lose interest. And by that point, you would be too far gone. “Do you think you could be exclusive?” you asked.

He held your gaze for a beat and then dropped his eyes. “My track record’s pretty shit.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you reached for another drink of wine and set the glass back on the table before leaning back beside him. Negan’s honesty was one of the things you liked about him. He didn’t pull any punches, not when it came to important stuff. It was pretty telling that he didn’t even trust himself not to cheat. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” you admitted.

After a few minutes, he reached for your hand and twined his fingers with yours. “So, just friends, huh?”

“Yep.”

He let out a loud breath. “Fuck.”

“Yep.” You glanced over at him, but he was staring straight ahead at the candle, which had melted down about halfway by then.

“Guess that settles it then,” Negan said, squeezing your hand once before he stood. “This fucking burning dick ain’t doing shit for our lovelives.” He leaned down where it was burning on the table and blew it out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took forever. I didn't expect "a couple of weeks" to turn into a month, but there it is. Also, I'd like to blame the delay on Negan. I had a whole other chapter written, but he didn't like that one and made me rewrite it. Hopefully the next one will be out sooner. Let me know what you thought, if you're so inclined. Happy New Year!


	16. Chapter 16

Like a standoffish group of popular girls, sleep chose to elude you on Sunday night. Maybe it was because of your heart to heart with Negan. Or it could've been the fish. Or the half carton of ice cream covered in chocolate syrup you'd drowned your sorrows in after Negan had left. Or the bag of chips you'd munched on as you sat staring at the half-burned dick candle. Half-burned, not the fully burned puddle of red wax that it should've been. You'd already been in bed for an hour tossing and turning when you’d realized what Negan had done. 

_ “Be sure to burn it until it goes out by itself. Otherwise, you could risk more troubles than you started with.” _

The Majiik Shoppe clerk’s instructions, which you'd failed to share with Negan, had been haunting you ever since he had left for the night, shortly after extinguishing said candle.

But it was just a candle, right? Nothing bad was going to happen. After all, you'd resolved your man problems by hashing things out with Negan. Now, you could just be friends and not worry about scorching hot gazes or roving hands or words that took you from zero to sixty in about as many seconds. Mind made up, you shook the chip crumbs into your mouth, tossed back a couple of antacids, and crawled back into bed.

Sleep was still a bitch to you, and it took a few more hours of late night reading on your phone for your brain to eventually shut down on you.

You jumped up when the six o'clock train shook the house, its horn blaring in the distance. It was a good train, a reliable failsafe that ensured you never overslept. And it kept the rent low. You scrubbed a hand over your face as you rolled over. You could eek out thirty more minutes if you really wanted to, but then you faced the danger of oversleeping, and you definitely didn't want to do that. You grabbed your phone and pulled up your music app, looking for something energetic. That was when you saw the actual time 7:45. Blinking, you jumped out of bed and checked your clock, confirming the time. No way. You'd never slept through both your alarm and the early train. 

You'd never make it to work before the morning bell rang.  _ Okay, don't freak out, _ you told yourself.  _ You've covered for Krys a dozen times. Just text them and get ready, and everything will be fine. _ You were halfway through said text when your phone died. You had fallen asleep with it in your hand while reading, and had never plugged it in. 

Cursing, you plugged in the phone and made your way to the shower. Kitty wailed at you when you stepped on her tail. Even though you apologized, you had no time to give her conciliatory pets. Between that and keeping her from Negan last night, you'd surely be in the dog house later, but you had no time to worry over the whims of your pet.

By the time you managed to make yourself presentable, you had just enough charge on your phone to get a text out to Krys. You tossed a handful of kibble into Kitty's bowl, much to her displeasure (she had obviously been expecting a groveling human apology tendered in the form of her favorite pâté) and went out to your car, only to find that it wouldn’t start. When the lights wouldn’t come on, you realized it must be a dead battery.

Unbelievable. There was no way this was your Monday morning.  _ Just call in _ , your brain suggested helpfully.  _ You have the sick leave _ . But what if you got sick later? Or what if the sub screwed up the safety plans? Any time you had ever had a substitute, instead of just having the students complete the worksheets you’d left, the sub usually gave your students "helpful" kitchen tips that tended to backfire once you were back. No, you couldn't call in. You were just going to have to order a ride and get a jump from Krys or your neighbor later. You went back inside to wait for the car to arrive. This was going to put a serious dent in your fridge fund.

From its spot on the corner of the coffee table, the half-burned dick candle mocked you.

The only thing working in your favor was that Krys had covered your class until you could sneak in the side entrance and teach. Your students, used to your punctuality and knowing your firm stance on the tardy policy, had given you wide-eyed, worried looks that you pointedly ignored. 

When the first class was finally over, you found a note that one student had passed to another. It had been intricately folded and appeared to contain some sort of drawing. You typically didn’t read the notes that you found on occasion, but you did enjoy seeing your students’ artwork.

_ Looks like Coach Negan gave her a  _ _ **REALLY HARD** _ _ time last night _ , the note read.

Personally, you didn't think both all caps and the underline were necessary, but you also weren't fourteen.

Below the words was a manga style drawing of two characters. The tall one had short, dark hair, wore a leather jacket, and had a whistle on a strap around his neck. His arm was wrapped around the other character's shoulder, and he was smirking down at her. She wore a chef's hat and an apron and was offering up a pie with lattice top and everything to him. Little hearts surrounded the two, and COACHSUGAR was written in bubble letters.

Ugh.

You downgraded your first period group from your favorite to second favorite. You’d always liked your third period better anyway.

Krys was good enough to give you both a ride home and a jump on Monday afternoon. It turned out that you’d left one of your interior lights on, so you didn’t even have to get a new battery. Surely, tomorrow would be a better day.

On Tuesday morning, you woke up to the hugest pimple you'd seen in your life right in the middle of your forehead. You didn't have any kind of zit-zapping ointment to put on it, and unfortunately, you did not manage to crack the code when it came to finding the right amount of concealer, foundation, and powder needed to make it less noticeable.

“That thing should have its own zip code,” Krys told you when you met them at their classroom for help before the first bell.

“Thanks, Krys.”

“Seriously, you should file an amendment on your taxes and claim it as a dependent.”

“You got a lot of jokes for someone who counts on me to let them know when the back of their head has bloody nicks from shaving.”

Krys laughed as they pulled out the oversized toolbox that held “the good stuff.” “That's because you're the best. Don't worry. I’ll fix you up.” They started riffling through the box of makeup. 

“I'm counting on it.”

What you weren't counting on was the loud vibrations mixed with screeches and pops that started sounding out in the hall a few minutes later.

“What the Hell is that?” Krys asked. “Do you think the AC's broken? Damn, that would suck. There’s no way this much concealer is going to hold up if you start sweating.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and got up, heading for the door. “No, I'm pretty sure I know what it is.”

Your classroom fridge had graduated from its usual loud droning growl to an occasional squeal and shimmy last week. But now, there was some weird metallic vibration breaking up the noise, making it sound as though a DJ was scratching a record while someone banged a set of pots. 

Stepping into your room only confirmed your suspicion. It was louder than ever, Krys having to raise their voice multiple times to ask what you were going to do.

There wasn't anything you could do. Principal Johnson had yet to follow up from last week on the status of a repair or a newer model. 

You put your stuff down at your desk and walked over to check on the fridge. Sometimes if you gave it a good shake or whacked it just so, you could persuade it to give you a few seconds of peace. It wasn't until you slipped and ended up in the floor on your back that you discovered the fridge was also leaking again. When you tried to get up, a sharp pain tore through your ankle, and you realized you'd turned it.

As you limped over to get some paper towels, Krys finally joined you.

“Well, on the bright side,” they said as they watched you limp around, “at least now you have something to distract from the zit.”

Great.

The thing was, you didn't really believe in superstition, witchcraft, or whatever juju powered up the mystical dick candle. But just to be safe, you relit it and burned it until it went out on Tuesday night. It seemed to burn well into the evening, and you had to fight the desire to doze the entire time, finally resorting to watching obnoxiously loud action flicks to keep yourself awake. Maybe the combined testosterone of a band of hapless comic book heroes would help. 

“I'm not a hypocrite for burning it,” you told Kitty, once the candle had rendered itself a puddle of wax in its plate. “Doesn’t mean I believe in this crap. It's just for good measure.”

She presented her butt to you, swished her tail in the air a few times, and sauntered off to your bedroom.

Things were looking up on Wednesday. You made it through the entire school day without incident. Sure, you'd been limping around since you'd messed up your ankle and you still had a huge zit, but considering the last two days, these things were little more than an inconvenience. In fact, you walked into work to find that Principal Johnson had responded to your desperate email from yesterday re: your fridge, saying that the budget was in your favor, and someone would be out to fix the fridge by the end of the week.

Just before first period, two of your more industrious kids made a TikTok dance with your fridge that had gone school viral by lunchtime. As the afternoon wound down, you had groups of students lined up outside your door, waiting to make their own videos. The current group consisted of two girls and a guy who were trying to figure out whether heavy metal, hardcore rap, or reggaeton matched the fridge beat the best. 

You were sitting at your desk, grading a few safety quizzes and thinking the fridge really had more of a Bollywood flare to it when Lexi strolled in.

As usual, she was in a power suit, this one in a shade of dark maroon. Her impossibly high heels clicked on the floor, and she took a sip from the expensive coffee cup she carried before saying, “I've crunched the numbers with Ray, and it's not looking like we're going to be able to help you out with your,” she glanced at the refrigerator that was currently making a high pitched  _ eeeeeee  _ sound, “little problem.”

“But Principal Johnson said--”

Lexi set her coffee on your papers and loomed over you. “Of course, we might be able to move a few things around, if properly motivated.”

You rubbed at your temples, not really believing you were about to grovel for appliance maintenance. No wonder nothing ever got done in politics. “What do you want, Lexi?”

She ignored you, eyes already on her phone as she swiped through a few screens with an immaculately manicured fingertip. After a few seconds, she stopped and flipped the screen for you to see.

It was one of those damned #CoachSugar pics again, the one from the farm. The giggling girls who'd been watching you and Negan Saturday morning hadn’t quite caught the brief kiss he'd brushed over your cheek, but you had to admit that it was obvious your bodies were speaking the same language. He wore a knowing little grin on his face as he recalled his dirty fantasies and tried to get you to reveal your own. His eyes had that dark, hungry look that made it so easy to forget all the reasons why you were keeping him firmly in the Friend Zone. 

You dragged your eyes up to Lexi, who you now realized was watching you. “Is there something I'm supposed to be looking at here?” you asked. Had she dragged herself all the way to your corner of the building just to remind you that she'd signed you up for farm duty until Thanksgiving? 

“Don't try to be cute. Everybody knows you're falling over yourself to make a play for Negan. It's sad, really.”

You held your breath and counted backwards from ten. Out of the corner of your eye, you realized your would be TikTok stars were slowly becoming onlookers. Super.

“Negan and I are just friends,” you told her, lowering your voice.

“How did you sucker him into pulling volunteer duty with you at the farm?” she asked.

“I didn't ‘sucker him’ into anything. He just showed up. He didn't even do any work.” The breakfast had been nice though. And you had to admit that it’d led to a memorable night.

“Then you won't have any problem getting him to show up this weekend too.” 

“Why would I want him to come to the farm this weekend?”

“Because I'm planning to be there, and I'm sure you want the chance to make up for ruining my date at the festival." She leaned in and gave you one of her nasty smiles. “And if Negan and I have a good enough time, maybe I'll be able to help Ray find that extra bit of money for your refrigerator.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. This could not be happening. Lexi wasn't seriously asking you to set her up with Negan, was she? “Why don't you just ask him out yourself?”

“Honey, I'm not the kind of woman who has to ask men out.”

“So you're the kind who manipulates people into setting her up?”

You heard the kids snicker. Whoops. You were supposed to be setting an example.

“Honey,” oh, if she didn't stop calling you  _ honey…  _ “a man like Negan doesn't take a date fail like that easily. I'm sure he's just trying to come up with something spectacular to make things up to me. But sometimes we have to help things along.” 

You had to hold back a snicker of your own at that. Did Lexi honestly think Negan was the type of guy to let a bad date get in the way of his sexual fulfillment? That really didn’t fit his style. Of course, he had sort of admitted to you that he’d blown it with Lexi. Maybe he just hadn’t had a chance to squeeze her into his busy dating schedule yet. Then again, Lexi seemed to be so high maintenance that maybe he didn’t want to.

“So what's it going to be?” she asked.

You thought about it, and your sore ankle throbbed, reminding you of the important thing here: your busted fridge. “Look, I'll mention it to him, but I can't make any guarantees. Besides, I don't think he’s planning to go out this weekend.” When you'd asked about his Halloween weekend plans, he'd said he was staying home. Maybe he just needed to take a break from all the man-whoring.

“How about you just let me know, and I’ll let you know where we stand with your refrigerator?” Lexi suggested. Said fridge chose that moment to go completely silent.

Everyone in the room turned to look at it, and your eyes widened in alarm, worried it had finally met its end. An eerie silence hung in the air. Then it let out a loud bang and resumed its usual jittering and clanging. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

Lexi, who’d been reaching for her coffee cup, jumped at the noise and knocked the cup on its side. Coffee sloshed from the spout all over the quizzes you'd been grading. You lurched up out of your seat, trying to pick the cup up only to have the top fall off, sending the rest of the coffee across your entire desk surface.

Lexi recoiled and stepped back. “Way to go. Have fun cleaning that up. And sweetie, maybe try washing your face once in a while. You have a huge zit.” She turned on her heel and swished away.

The TikTokers gasped and rushed to help you clean up the desk. As you dropped back down into your rusted, squeaky chair, you wondered just which deity you'd pissed off and what you'd need to do to get back on their good side.

“So what did he say?” Krys asked Thursday morning after you’d caught them up on the latest. Since you were having what they termed “the week from Hell,” they’d treated you to an unhealthy fast food breakfast sandwich combo with orange juice. You both ate at your desk.

“Who?”

“Joe Exotic the Tiger King.” They rolled their eyes so far back in their head that you had legitimate concerns they might actually stick that way. “Negan.”

Oh. Right. “I haven't asked him yet.” You popped a hashbrown into your mouth. Crispy with just the right amount of salt.

“Well why not?”

“I don't know. That seems like something you don't do over text. I mean, I guess we're still friends or whatever, but that doesn't mean he's going to jump just because I ask a favor.”

Krys looked Heavenward, like they were mentally asking the gods why they'd been cursed with a friend as inept as you. It chafed. “You think Negan would miss his chance to take another shot at Lexi?”

You shrugged. “He’s had plenty of time to reschedule. Maybe he's not into her.”

“Or maybe he's hung up on someone else.”

“Don't start, Krys. He and I had The Talk.” You took a sip of your juice. “It's not in the cards.”

They heaved a dramatic sigh. “Guess that means I'm not winning that Sue Ellen’s gift certificate with a shot of CoachSugar.”

You'd forgotten about the shipstagram contest. “Don't worry. I'm sure a FireGlamour pic can beat out Camelot any day. You and Matteo have something Lance and Gwyn don’t.”

“Diversity?”

You chuckled. “Well, that certainly doesn’t hurt.”

“So how are you planning to talk Negan into meeting you at the farm for a date with Lexi?

That was a good question. “I'd better do a deep-dive through my recipes.” You whipped out your phone and started scrolling through the recipe app. “He'll probably want something really sweet and decadent.”

“I'm pretty sure the whole school knows what sweet and decadent thing he'd like from you. You're just not willing to give it up.”

“What was that, Mx. Let This Dick Candle Solve All Your Problems?”

Krys huffed but opted for sipping their iced coffee instead of continuing to tease you. Small favors.

Even though you still had to spend the day limping around, Thursday really wasn’t so bad. Sure, you’d had at least a dozen groups of kids not enrolled in Home Ec trying to interrupt class to TikTok with your fridge. But a promise to stay an hour after the dismissal bell and a threat of lunch detention if they didn’t get back to the classes they were supposed to be in had assuaged most of them. The only other slight inconvenience had come when one kid had tripped another in the hallway while you were on monitor duty, resulting in you spending that time after school filling out reports instead of grading or planning, but considering the week you’d had already, you were putting Thursday firmly in the win column.

That was, until you walked out to the parking lot and discovered you had a flat tire.

_ No. Way. _

It was literally statistically impossible for someone to have a week this unlucky. Okay, you actually didn’t know that. You’d usually fallen asleep in your statistics course. But you were fairly confident that if you Googled it, your assertion would be confirmed. No one could have luck so bad, even if they were cursed by a dick candle.

Because you’d ended up staying so late, trying to corral wayward students who wanted Fridge Time and filling out meaningless paperwork no one would ever read, you were one of the few people still at the school. Krys had already left, planning to work on their Halloween costume, so they weren't responding to your texts right then.

Years ago, you had learned to change a tire in a high school driver's ed class, even seen it done a couple of times more recently. But you could imagine yourself trying to change a tire with your luck this week, and the odds were not in your favor. 

You stood by your car, trying to figure out if it was worth your time to try the Roadside Assistance that came with your cut rate car insurance. You had a feeling that, even if you called them, they would either a.) tell you they were coming but never show or b.) make the problem ten times worse, perhaps damaging an axle or boot, or some other car part you weren’t sure actually existed but had heard lobbied around by car nuts.

A “looks like you're in a real pickle” whistle broke your thoughts, and you looked up to see none other than Principal Johnson standing a few feet away, a leather briefcase hanging over his shoulder. He was in a pair of navy pants and wore a light blue dress shirt. He put his phone away in his pocket and pulled off his sunglasses. 

“End of the day flat?” your boss asked. “That stinks,” he added, apparently not requiring your confirmation.

“Yeah,” you agreed, not sure what else to say.

As it turned out, few words were needed. Five minutes later, Johnson was kneeling on the ground--you would have to offer to foot the dry-cleaning bill--jacking up your car and preparing to remove the bad tire. 

“Looks like you ran over a nail,” he said after he’d jacked up the car. “I can swing it by my cousin Enzo's for you. He'll patch it for free.”

“That would be great. Thanks,” you told him. 

He hit you with a blinding grin. “My pleasure.”

You couldn't help but smile back. Despite the fact that he wasn't the best at following up with non-sports related issues, Johnson was a genuinely good guy. Actually, maybe now was a good time to remind him of your little problem and see if you could circumvent Lexi’s little scheme. You took a step closer as he placed a lug wrench on one of the tire's lug nuts. “So, Mr. Johnson--”

“Ray,” he corrected without looking up. “You know, these are really stuck on here. When's the last time you had your tires rotated?”

“Uhh…,” you trailed off, well, certainly not since you'd moved. Your budget was still recovering. “It's been a while.”

“I can tell.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not for me,” he replied.

“Great, so anyway, Ray,” you emphasized his name even though you still weren’t completely comfortable using it, “I was excited when I saw your email about getting maintenance out to check the fridge. And I'm really looking forward to it. Do you think they can come out tomorrow maybe?”

“Hmm?” He had been rocking the wrench back and forth, trying to get the nut to move and stopped to look up at you. “Oh, the fridge. Lexi said she took care of it, but something came up, and they can't work you in until next week. Sorry about that.”

“I see.” You had a feeling that Lexi would find a way to move the repair date indefinitely. She probably had Maintenance wrapped around her finger just like the principal was. Too bad you didn't know Ray well enough to predict how he would react if you told him Lexi was blackmailing you with fridge repair to get you to fix her up with Negan. 

Scratch that. Actually, you could. Just thinking it in your head sounded so ridiculous that you were sure there was no way Johnson would believe you. Besides, it was bad enough you were having to rely on him for the tire change. You didn't need a big, strong man to rescue you from the resident mean girl, too.

“Next week is fine,” you told him.

“The fuck's going on here?”

You cringed as you heard Negan's approach.

Johnson turned to look at him while he was giving the lug wrench a particularly powerful twist. You heard a loud pop, followed by a grinding metallic bang, and the lug nut finally came off.

You all stared at the lug nut on the ground by your tire.

“Did you just bust the shit out of that stud, big man?” Negan asked.

Not really knowing what he was talking about, you looked over to see the principal giving the lug nut a perplexed look. You knew just enough about cars to know there wasn't supposed to be something stuck in the lug nut itself and that there should have been a screw still sticking out of the wheel. 

Ray rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry about that,” he said, examining the piece stuck in the nut. “Looks like the studs are rusted.”

Negan laughed. He was wearing a light grey t-shirt with darker grey track pants.

You reached out and lightly back-handed his upper arm. “It isn't funny.”

He grinned and rubbed at the spot you'd hit. “It's hilarious.” He turned to Johnson. “Mr. Knight in Shining Armor here just made your problem ten times worse by trying to save the day.”

“How about instead of standing around and offering color commentary, you make yourself useful by running to the auto store?” Johnson asked. You rarely heard him take a tone with anyone, but you were glad it was aimed at Negan. He was being a dick. Ray went on, “We'll have to replace all of these just to make sure the spare is secure.”

That sounded expensive. 

“Don't you worry,” Negan smirked, taking the rusted pieces from Johnson. “I'll make sure Sugar here gets exactly what she needs.”

“Negan,” you chastised. Double entendres between friends were one thing; in front of your boss, they were another thing all together.

“What?” he asked, trying to play innocent. “I mean at the automotive store. Come on,” he waved for you to follow him to his car, and started for it without waiting for you.

You looked back and forth between the two men who were helping you. It seemed kind of rude to leave while Ray was working on your car, but you also needed to go pay for the new parts. And the auto parts store wasn't far. “You don't mind if I go, do you?” you asked Johnson.

He winked. “I'll have the tire off and the spare ready by the time you get back.”

“Thanks,'' you said and followed Negan to his car a moment later.

“What the fuck?” he asked once you were both in his car. He was giving you a look like you had done something to annoy him instead of vice versa.

“What?”

“Johnson? Really?” He pulled out of the parking lot and pointed the car toward the auto store, only a couple of miles away.

You rolled your eyes. “He offered to help. It was nice.” Actually, he hadn't so much offered as ascertained the situation and then gone about doing what needed to be done.

“I thought friends were supposed to call each other when they needed help.”

“Well yeah, but Krys was already gone, and I assumed you were, too.”

“Practice,” he said, “and I park two rows from you. You didn't see my car?”

“I didn't have a chance to think that far. Ray just showed up and went to work.”

“‘Ray,’ huh?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Are you seriously jealous? Of the principal?”

“We'd have to be more than 'sort of friends' for me to be jealous, wouldn't we?”

You drew in a loud breath. “Negan, I have had one of the worst weeks of my life. I don't want to argue. I thought everything was good between us.”

“Everything is just peachy,” he said as he pulled into the lot for the auto store.

Before he could get out, you put your hand on his forearm. “Hey, what's going on with you?”

He worked his jaw for a minute and then sat back in his seat. “Same as you, I reckon.” He scrubbed a hand over his scruff. “Shitty-ass week.”

“I'm sorry. You want to talk about it?”

He looked at you for a long minute. “Not one bit.”

You pulled away and nodded. “Okay.” You reached for the latch on your door.

“Wait.” He touched your shoulder. “You want to tell me about yours?”

You shrugged. “Doesn't do any good to complain, right?” If he wasn’t going to share, neither were you. You opened your door and headed into the auto store, letting him follow you in. But just as you limped past the threshold, you stopped in your tracks. There, standing behind your register was the last guy you’d dated.

Jim had been an automotive instructor at the high school you’d worked at before. He was short with curly, red hair that he still kept in a man bun. Since you’d last seen him, he’d put on a few pounds and shaved off the hipster beard he’d had ever since you had met him. 

Jim wasn’t the worst guy you’d ever been with, but he was one you would’ve been happy to never see again. It wasn’t so much that the relationship had ended badly, but you’d both realized about two months before either of you were willing to end things that it wasn’t working. You’d both spent a lot of time avoiding communication, and by the time you’d finally called it quits, both of you had been fairly bitter about it. Of course, you remembered, he’d moved on quickly with one of the recent high school graduates. And you’d heard they’d gotten married shortly after he quit teaching, so you guessed it worked out in the end.

You couldn’t help but take a step back, the desire to avoid an awkward situation during such a crazy week hard to tamp down. Maybe if you moved quickly enough, you could get back out of the store before he ever saw you. Unfortunately, you just ended up stepping into Negan, who put a hand behind your back to steady you, probably thinking you’d stumbled.

“You okay?” he asked from behind you.

You swallowed. “Y-yeah.”

And then Jim’s eyes were on you. Damn.

“I’m, uhh, just going to wait in the car.” Facing Negan, you scrambled to grab your wallet from your bag, “while you do the thing with the, uhh, things.” You pulled out some cash and shoved it into his hand.

Negan looked at you like you’d lost your mind, an eyebrow raised as he wrapped his hand around the money. “What--”

Jim called your name.

Negan glanced at him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “He’s my ex,” you whispered.

“Oh is that all?” Negan asked.

You opened your eyes to find him grinning down at you.

“I thought he’d upset you or something and that I was about to have to fuck him up.” He studied your face for a minute. “ _ Do _ I need to fuck him up?”

The thought made a laugh bubble out. “No, it wasn’t like that or anything. It’s just, you know, awkward.”

A slow smile stretched across his face. “Would you say it’s less than, equal to, or more awkward than having a lesbian you just met proposition you to be her stud?”

You huffed. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Not in this lifetime. Come on,” he put his hand around your back, “if nothing else, this’ll make my week the tiniest bit better.”

You sighed and let him usher you up to the counter.

“Hey, good to see you,” Jim said as you approached. 

“Nice to see you too, Jim,” you said, even though it wasn’t.

“Oh, you two know each other?” Negan asked, like you hadn’t just told him as much.

“Yeah,” you said through clenched teeth.

“We used to date,” Jim said at the same time.

“Is that right?” Negan asked. “Small world, ain’t it?”

“Too small,” you said.

“Going to introduce me?” Negan asked.

You were so going to call up Iris later and tell her that he had agreed to donate his sperm. “Jim, this is Negan. He’s one of the P.E. teachers where I work now.”

“The same Negan who took the baseball team to State?”

“The one and only,” Negan said, reaching out to shake the other man’s hand.

Why hadn’t you settled down in a bigger city? Or just a normal-sized town where everyone didn’t know each other’s business before they even met?

“It’s great to meet you,” Jim said, “I heard your track guys have been doing great, too.”

“You heard right,” Negan replied.

“I used to do cross country back in my day. Tried to get her,” Jim motioned to you, “to go running with me in the mornings, but as you’ve probably noticed, it’s hard to get her out of the kitchen.”

You rolled your eyes at the thinly veiled insult. Jim was one of those guys who liked to poke fun at people who didn’t share all his same interests.

“Huh, I haven't really had that problem,” Negan lifted a shoulder. “We spent most of last weekend out. Well,” he leaned toward Jim, “she did make me dinner Sunday night, but only after I begged.” He leaned back and winked at you.

“Oh,” Jim said, “so you guys are together?”

“Something like that,” Negan said just as you said, “No.”

Jim looked between you both. “Okay. Well, what can I do for you today?”

Negan pulled the stud and lug nut out of his pocket and dropped them on the counter.

Considering your luck, you'd expected to have to go next door to the other auto parts store chain or potentially even wait for something to be ordered. But the store actually had what you needed in stock, and the parts were cheap. Finally, Lady Luck came down on your side. 

“Well don't be a stranger,” Jim said. “Carina and I would love to have you two over for dinner sometime.”

You knew Carina. She had been one of your students.

You and Negan exchanged looks, and before you could politely decline, Negan said, “We'll keep that in mind. Sugar just can't resist a good dinner party.”

You glared at him and pulled him out the door.

“You sure do have a way of stepping into some awkward shit,” Negan told you once you made it to the car.

“I told you my week had been the worst.”

He chuckled. “Can't believe you dated some asshole named Jim. What's that even like in bed? ‘ _ Oh, Jim _ ,’” he mocked in a high-pitched voice.

You glared. “I imagine it's about as ridiculous as ‘ _ Oh Negan _ .’”

He licked his lips. “Nothing ridiculous about that. In fact, I've been wanting to hear you say those words for a while now.”

You stared into his eyes.

He stared right back.

A moment later, you were both cracking up. You were thankful for some levity finally. You’d missed him this week.

Once you'd both settled down, he put the car in gear. Then he flicked his wrist and tapped his knuckles against your upper arm. “Tell me about your shitty week.”

You did. It was kind of nice to unload on someone besides Krys. They were a great friend and always in your corner, but it didn't hurt to have another shoulder to lean on.

You had just finished telling him about twisting your ankle on Tuesday and had gone into Wednesday's highlights as he pulled back into the school lot. This time, he parked closer to your car. “That brings me back to the fridge,” you said. 

Johnson was leaning against his truck, scrolling through his phone. Good to his word, he’d removed the flat tire, and the spare sat waiting on the asphalt near your car.

“You'd think the principal could manage getting a decent refrigerator for your classroom,” Negan said.

“Well, yeah, he's trying. But Lexi is sort of holding things up with paperwork.” 

“Lexi?”

_ Yeah, okay, _ you told yourself.  _ Just say it. _ “Lexi is planning to volunteer at the farm this week when I’m there, and she wanted me to see if you'd come too.”

“The fuck's she want with me?”

“She wants a redo of your date at the festival.”

His brow wrinkled like he was playing a chess game and trying to see the moves ahead. “Why?”

“She likes you.”

He chuckled. “Didn't seem to like me too much when she was telling me off that night.”

You shrugged. “I guess she's forgiven you.”

“You and Lexi ain't exactly buddy-buddy. How come she's using you as a go-between?”

“Like you said a few days ago, she blames that night on me.”

He rubbed his chin and gave you a half smile. “That wasn't your fault.”

“Doesn't matter as long as she thinks it is. Lexi’s one of those women who has a little power. Seems like she's going to keep hassling me until I do something to make it up to her.”

“So me showing up for farm duty will make it up to her?”

“And, you know, she said she'd make sure my fridge got maintenance this week.”

“Ah, so you're pimping me out for services?”

You dropped your eyes and bit your lip. “Well I wouldn’t put it like that.”

He laughed at you. “Tell you what, I’ll come. Actually,” he rubbed at a spot over the knee of his pants, “I got somewhere to go after we pull farm duty. Maybe you could come with.”

Negan was asking you for a favor? “Sure, as long as you don’t take me to a No-Tell Motel.”

He grabbed his chest and held it as though he were wounded. “That's a real indictment on my character, Sugar. I always spring for at least two stars, minimum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope your _actual_ week is so much better than this one. ICYMI and enjoy Negan's perspective, I updated Spice with a second chapter. Thanks for reading.


	17. Chapter 17

It is a truth universally acknowledged that trying to impart knowledge to younger generations the day before a holiday is a nigh impossible feat. Trying to teach a room full of teens--half of whom were dressed as cats--how to make their own candy the Friday before Halloween was no exception.

Even though it was Halloween Eve, you had opted not to dress up. After all, your unlucky week had taught you to believe in the impossible. So while under normal circumstances, monitoring teens as they microwaved candy melts would be relatively unremarkable, you weren’t putting yourself in a position where you might potentially ruin a costume you’d invested either time or money in. That, and, you were so drained from the week that you didn’t have any good ideas for a costume.

Unfortunately for you, your first period was bored and determined to see you showing your Halloween spirit. Once the candy-making had been done, a small group of bored chorus girls begged, wheedled, and cajoled until you finally relented and let them “transform” you into a butterfly. Ten minutes later, you had notebook paper wings taped on your back and straws (yes, the plastic, turtle-killing kind) fashioned into a tiara that sported a pair of antennae around your head. 

“What do you think?” Maxie asked as she finished winding your hair into a sloppy waterfall braid.

You checked yourself out in your phone’s camera, forcing a smile on your face as you took in the knots that she’d managed to create. “Looks great, guys.”

When third period--the drama kids--saw first period's handiwork, they had been appalled, demanding to make their own additions. Next thing you knew, your eyes had been swirled in sparkling shades of silver, violet, and blue, and every inch of your face and neck was covered in an iridescent array of gold, peach, and pearl shimmer dust from various highlighter palettes. Rainbow ribbons cut from construction paper had been stapled to the bottom of your paper wings, and the tiara had been upgraded to a coronet of neon index card rosettes and then set upon your head. 

“We definitely have to commemorate this for the yearbook,” Jessica said. In the couple of weeks since she’d been dating one of Negan’s runners, you’d noticed she’d become more talkative and outgoing in class. You only knew she was still dating Tommy because he now came by every day after third period to walk her to lunch.

You forced a careful smile into place so she could snap some shots as a couple of other students finished up with your hair. They were crowded around you as you sat at your desk.

_ At least now it shouldn’t be as tangled _ , you thought when you got a look at their handiwork. Your hair was now twisted up into a complicated-looking updo. And the sparkling highlighter was doing a great job at covering the zit that had appeared earlier in the week. 

While the drama group had worked on you, the other kids had been rocking out to some pop song as they danced between workstations, comparing candy. This was fairly normal for the group, who you could never get to be completely quiet. So when the drama group disbursed just as the classroom--previously full of rambunctious teens chattering, singing, making candy, and bustling around you--suddenly went quiet save for the clattering fridge, you weren’t sure what was up. Finding your students suddenly hyper-focused on doing their work only freaked you out further.

You finally looked toward the door to find Principal Johnson leaning in the doorway, a brow raised as he bit his lip, probably to keep from laughing at you.

It occurred to you that, to the outside observer, it might appear you weren't actually doing the job you had been hired for. “Hey there, Principal Johnson. We’re uhh...” you trailed off and scrambled to think of something that wasn't,  _ My students asked me to do it, and I'm too burned out from a Hellish week to deny them _ , and came up with, “We’re making homemade costumes. It’s a great way to test those critical thinking and problem-solving skills.” It was just your luck this week that your boss would swing by while you were ostensibly slacking off. But so far in your career, tossing out buzzwords like “critical thinking” had never failed to keep you out of hot water.

“I see,” he said, affecting a very serious look. He was sporting a tan safari shirt, congo pants with bulky pockets, heavy brown boots, black gloves, and an honest to goodness utility belt. Before he could get two steps into your classroom, a student was blocking his path.

“Oh my gosh, my little brother loves that movie!” squealed Jessica. “Could I get a few shots of you for the yearbook?” She lifted the humongous camera that hung around her neck.

The principal, now momentarily distracted, attempted to blind her with one of his megawatt smiles before stepping fully into the room and striking a few poses.

Jessica snapped several shots with the school’s fancy camera. She was wearing a prep school uniform with a larger blue t-shirt that had R.I.P. on it on black block letters.

When the obligatory yearbook pictures were done a couple of minutes later, Ray turned to you, and asked, “So, what are the other kids working on?” He gestured to the rest of the class, who appeared to be busy at their workstations but were mostly chattering, wiggling to music on their headphones, or stealing less-than-stealthy glances your way.

“They're making candy.” At least, some of them were. You didn't trust them with real candy, the kind that required a thermometer and constant stirring. But it was hard to mess up microwaving candy melts and pouring them into plastic molds.

“Need a taste tester?”

You gave him a once-over. Though his muscles nearly bulged out of his shirt, his tapered waist suggested that sugar rarely passed his lips. “You don't look like you have much room in your diet for sweets.”

“I've been known to indulge here and there.”

You were about to offer him some of the candies from the demo batch you'd made earlier, but students from three different groups beat you to the punch, each offering their own colorful candies. Their excitement and his gleeful response to them brought a smile to your face. It was easy to see why the majority of the parent volunteers were single mothers hoping to catch his eye. Too bad Lexi had her claws dug in firmly.

While Johnson was busy trying candies, Jing, a waifish girl who was dressed as an elven princess, started applying a bright purple shade to your lips. 

“I think that might be too loud for me,” you told her.

“We’re making a statement,” she replied, and continued on as though you hadn’t said anything.

You were still wondering what the statement was when the principal stepped out of the crowd of students and over to your desk.

“I was just swinging by to let you know that Enzo patched your tire,” he said.

“That’s great. Please tell him I really appreciate it. Are you sure I don’t owe him anything?”

“Definitely. Just take your car to him if it breaks down. He’ll treat you right.”

At the rate things were going, you wouldn’t be surprised if the car did break down. You nodded. “Will do.”

“He’s going to be on this side of town around lunchtime. If you don’t mind giving me your key, we can swap the tire back out with the spare.”

“Sure, as long as it’s not too much trouble. I could just take it by his garage after work and pay him to--”

He cut you off. “It’s  _ not _ any trouble. That’s what we do around here, help each other out.”

You smiled as you reached into your desk to get the key from your purse, thinking that you’d have to be sure to take a batch cookies by his cousin’s shop. You wondered what flavor Ray liked.

“Principal Johnson,” said Jessica, “don't you want to get a picture for the yearbook with the Faerie Queen?”

“Sure do,” he said, and moved to stand behind Jing. She gave him a look like he'd grown another head. “Principal Johnson, I'm Arwen. From  _ Lord of the Rings _ . She's,” Jing pointed at you, “the Faerie Queen.”

Oh, was that what they were going for? You’d been way off with your guesses.

Ray looked at you and blinked. “Of course she is.” He closed the distance between you in two long strides and reached his hand out to help you up. “Your majesty.”

You chuckled as you took his hand and stood, using the opportunity to give him your car keys. “What did you think I was?” you asked him in a whisper so the kids wouldn't hear.

“I don't want to say.”

You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Well now you have to tell me.”

He gave you a sheepish look. “A mutant butterfly.”

You bit down on a laugh. “I was thinking some weird Poison Ivy meets  _ My Little Pony _ gone wrong sort of thing.”

He let out a hearty, full-bodied laugh.

“Ready?” Jessica asked, standing in front of you and lifting her camera.

You didn’t need to fake a smile for the yearbook this time.

\-------------

“Velma says you need to come back into the store,” Krys told you later on during lunch duty. 

You were trying to restrain the urge to gag as you watched a couple of football players battle it out to see who could eat the most slices of the glue-smothered cardboard that the cafeteria tried to pass off as pizza. “Who's Velma?” you asked.

Krys scoffed. “Girl, don't you pay attention? Velma runs the Majiik Shoppe.”

That got your attention. You jerked your eyes away from the tragic scene before you and turned to Krys. “You told her about what happened? With the candle?”

“I didn't even have to tell her. She called me and asked about you, said she felt something _off_.”

Damn. You were so cursed that the local mystic could sense a disturbance in the force? That had to mean you were well and truly screwed. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“You think?” they asked, hand cocked on their hip. They were draped in gold and blue, rocking a full Egyptian pharaoh costume, accented with Cleopatra-esque makeup. You didn’t know how Krys managed to pull off every look they went for, but you were both envious and impressed. 

“Well what did she say?”

“She said that your man problems were the worst she’d seen in three years,” Krys told you, leaning against the cafeteria wall. They’d pulled out their phone and were scrolling through some app or another. 

You thought about doing the same, just to have a distraction from the pizza-scarfing footballers--you were pretty sure they were both on nine slices--but you and Krys were the only two on lunch duty, and you figured at least one of you needed to be responsible. “My troubles can’t be the _worst_. I’m not even in a relationship.”

Krys gave you a doubtful look. 

“Ten!” shouted the teens who’d crowded around the pizza competition. One student joined the crowd, bringing a tray of fresh slices to the competitors. The spectators hooted and hollered.

You and Krys joined your voices together to call them down until the noise level was more tolerable.

“You’re not wearing that tomorrow night, are you?” Krys asked a minute later, giving your “costume” the eye.

“What’s wrong with it?”

They gave you a look that begged, _Really? I have to tell you?_

You sighed and shrugged. “I’m probably not going to dress up tomorrow.”

“Well when you see Jonah, try to sound a little more enthusiastic than that. Matteo said he’s really looking forward to seeing you.”

It was nice to hear. You’d exchanged a few texts with him over the week but nothing of substance. You were feeling a bit nervous about the date, especially considering the events of your week so far. The dick candle was supposed to sort out your love life, and if Jonah was to be a part of that, you weren’t sure if the candle might somehow influence the date. A lot could go wrong at a haunted trail.

“What are you supposed to be anyway?” Krys asked a minute later. “That bug chick from _Guardians of the Galaxy_?”

Ouch. “I’ll have you know I’m the Faerie Queen.”

“Mmhmm,” they said. “And since when does King Oberon dress like he's ready to kick some ass in the jungle?”

“What?”

They tilted their phone so you could see the screen. In the picture, you were smirking up at Principal Johnson, who was giving you one of his wide, opened-mouth grins. The photographer had caught you in the process of passing him your car key, but from the angle, it looked like you and Ray were holding hands. One of the other kids must have snapped it when you were getting ready to pose for the yearbook. 

Oh no, if Krys was seeing it on their phone, that could only mean one thing. And it wasn't good. Your phone buzzed in your pocket. When you pulled it out, you had an update notification from the school ‘Shipstagram account. Ugh. 

With a tap, you saw the same picture of the principal and yourself. Beneath the photo read the caption, _Looks like our mountain of a principal is about to give Coach Negan a run for his money. How about some love for MountainSugar?_

As you slumped against the wall, you groaned so loud that several nearby students heard you and were looking up when you opened your eyes. Wait. Were they looking at you because they'd also received the notification? Nah, you were just being paranoid. Teens were always on their phones. It surely didn't have anything to do with you, even if half of them were smirking as they tapped their screens.

“Wow,” Krys said, “that's a lot of likes.” 

“Just shoot me now and get it over with.”

Krys laughed. 

“I'm serious.”

“Don't be so dramatic,” they told you.

“Eleven!” shouted the group of spectators. More cheers ensued.

You ignored them in favor of narrowing your eyes at Krys. “Did _you_ just tell _me_ not to be dramatic?”

Krys smirked at you. “Listen, this is a good thing.”

“How is it a good thing?”

“I just tripled my chances of winning the ‘Shipstagram contest.”

You were about to tell Krys exactly where they could shove the prize when someone let out the loudest belch you’d heard in your life. You turned back to the pizza contest to find one of the competitors standing up, proclaiming himself the winner, while the other was clutching his stomach. You didn’t know his name, but he was heavy and tall, and half the cafeteria was cheering him on. 

A camera flashed, and you saw Jessica snapping pictures, probably for the yearbook.

And then, the winning pizza eater suddenly doubled over and barfed all over the table and his competition. The other kid, now covered in pizza chunks, turned green. A second later, he was also heaving all over the table. One by one, the kids closest followed suit, horking up their recently-eaten lunches. 

“Oh my God,” Krys said.

You looked back to see that your friend was slowly turning pale and had a hand cupped over their mouth. 

They made a gagging noise, and you inched away. 

“Krys, maybe you should--”

It was too late. They whipped off their headdress and barfed into the underside. 

You stepped further back, in case the costume didn’t hold everything, and put your hand over your own mouth. The lunchroom was starting to smell less than pleasant.

The kids who hadn’t pulled out their cameras to commemorate the event started rushing toward the exits, panicking as though they, too, would soon lose their lunches. A couple tripped and fell but looked otherwise unscathed.

When you thought of the amount of reports you and Krys were going to have to fill out, you almost got sick too.

\-------------

Everyone who worked at the school knew a fire drill was always scheduled sometime during the last week of the month. Normally, these were done during one of the morning periods and earlier in the week when the students were easier to corral. But you guessed whoever had planned this month’s drill had thought it might be cute to have hundreds of teens in their Halloween costumes standing outside for a few minutes. It had been raining most of the day and had finally stopped just after the lunch fiasco. So when the fire alarm sounded in the middle of sixth period, you weren’t too surprised.

“Heard you and Krys got on Cafeteria Sally’s shit list,” Negan said, coming alongside you as your class marched ahead of you down the sidewalk toward the edge of the soccer field where you were supposed to wait with them.

He wasn’t wrong. Sally, who managed the cafeteria, had stepped out of the kitchen, taken one look at the barfing and gagging kids, then turned the nastiest stink eye you’d ever seen on you and Krys, who’d still been heaving beside you. You weren’t too surprised Negan had already heard, considering half the kids in the cafeteria had been documenting the incident. 

“Think it’ll get me out of lunch duty?” you asked.

He grinned. “Nah, you’ll have to do worse than that to get banned.”

You’d heard Negan had been banned sometime last spring. “What did you do?”

“You don’t want to know.”

He was probably right about that, too. “What are you doing all the way over here? Doesn't your class line up in the gym parking lot?”

“It’s Smith’s turn to keep up with them.”

“Don’t you have like sixty students combined?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.” He pulled his navy shirt up to scratch the side of his stomach. Then he reached his other hand around and rubbed at his back.

You looked, noticing that not only was his stomach a bit hairy, but it was also pretty red. “What are you doing?”

“Huh?” he asked and then followed your line of vision, dropped his shirt, and cursed.

“Do you have a rash or something?” This wouldn’t surprise you, considering the amount of women he’d been sleeping with over the last few months.

He gave you a disgusted look. “No, I ain’t got a rash.”

Your class stopped and lined up at the end of the soccer field, and you let Juana, one of your eager helper students, who you were pretty sure was the sophomore class treasurer, take your clipboard and check the roll to make sure everyone had made it out of the imaginary raging inferno alive. Turning back to Negan, you glanced down at his legs, which were bare since he was in a pair of grey gym shorts. His calves looked pretty red, too. “Are you sunburned?”

“I'm fine,” he said, and then met your eyes again. “The fuck's all over your face?”

You sighed, remembering the makeup. “My kids made me up for Halloween.”

He made a big show of looking you up and down. “You supposed to be some kind of dragon lady or something?”

You narrowed your eyes and said, “I'm the Faerie Queen,” as though it should have been obvious. 

“Uhhuh,” he said, and pulled up the hem of his shorts so he could scratch above his knee. It looked like a welt was starting to form.

“Negan, stop scratching. You’re going to get an infection.”

“I'll be fine,” he said, and kept scratching.

“Are you having an allergic reaction?”

“I'm not allergic to anything.”

“Did you use a different laundry detergent?”

“Nah, I…” he trailed off. “Shit. Maybe. I don't really know.”

“How do you not know if you used a new detergent?”

“It was a new girl who washed ‘em this time. Sort of smelled like hemp. Figured she'd use some kind of all natural shit on them.”

“Do you mean you took your clothes to a service?”

He screwed up his face. “I don't pay for that kind of stuff. I just show up at the laundromat, do a little flirting with whoever's there, and next thing I know, laundry's done in a couple of hours.”

“You're not serious,” you said.

“Serious as a heart attack.”

It was the most ridiculous thing he'd told you that somehow came as no surprise. You sighed. “Negan, if you don't want to do your laundry, just go to one of those drop off places next time.”

“Ain't that I don't _want_ to do it,” he muttered, dropping his eyes and smoothing his shorts back down. 

Did that mean that he actually didn’t know _how_ to do laundry? Your first instinct was to give him as hard a time as he gave you for pretty much everything. But you could tell the admission hadn’t been easy on him, so instead, you said, “I could show you sometime if you want.”

He gave you one of those looks like he wasn't sure what to make of the offer. But before he could say anything, Principal Johnson turned the corner and called over his megaphone, “Great job, everyone!”

Lexi trailed behind him, an iPad cradled in her arm as she clapped her hands, which caused all the students to do the same. The other teachers around you followed suit, though with much less fake excitement.

“It's safe to return,” Johnson said, and continued his trip around the outside of the school.

“Head on in, guys,” you told your students. 

Juana took the lead again, clipboard still in hand, and you let the group pass you so that you could follow behind and make sure no stragglers got waylaid on the way back to the classroom.

Negan kept pace beside you. “You free tonight?”

“For laundry?”

He nodded, reaching his hand into the back of his shirt and scratching somewhere below his neckline.

Considering your week of bad luck, you’d been planning to stay in and try to avoid any more mishaps. But since the disaster at lunch, you’d already decided a trip to a certain store in the mall was of the utmost importance. “I have to go somewhere after work.”

“Where?”

“The mall.”

“What for?”

He really drove you nuts sometimes. You stopped in your tracks and twisted to face him. “If you must know, I’m going to the place where I got the candle last week.”

“Oh, the dick candle store?” 

“Could you keep your voice down?” you asked, gesturing to the passing students, who were definitely giving more side eye than you were comfortable with. You kept your eye out for phones pointed your way but didn’t see any at the moment.

“What the fuck for?”

“Negan,” you snapped.

He grinned and then tapped your shoulder so that you would walk with him as he continued toward the building. “Alright,” he said in a stage whisper, “what are you going there for? Still not satisfied with your love life?” 

“No, and it’s all your fault.”

“How in the fuck is it my fault? I’ve been offering to satisfy you for weeks now.”

You narrowed your eyes at a girl ahead who looked back at you and giggled before she leaned into the boy beside her and whispered something. You tried to drop your volume a bit more. “It’s your fault because you screwed up the candle’s mojo or whatever when you blew it out early.”

“What?”

“The woman in the store told me that when I burned the candle, I had to let it go out by itself, or I’d have more troubles than I started with, and troubles are all I’ve had this entire week.”

He slid his hand up the front of his shirt again to scratch at his chest. “You think you’re the only one who’s got troubles this week? I’m five seconds from ripping my clothes off and lighting them on fire.”

The image startled a laugh out of you.

“It ain’t funny,” he said.

You wiped a smile away with the back of your hand and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “So anyway, I’ve got to go back to the store to try to fix the mess we’ve made.”

“You really believe all this bad luck you and me’ve had this week is because we fucked up some candle burning ceremony?”

“Yes,” you said, fully aware of how crazy you sounded. But at this rate, you were getting desperate. As you entered the building, you turned the corner to your classroom and stopped in front of the door.

“You think we'll have to burn another dick or something because we didn’t do it right the first time?” He rubbed his jaw with one hand while the other continued scratching his chest. “Sugar, I'm starting to think you’re into some abnormally kinky shit. I mean I'm the kind of guy who's up for just about anything, but a man's got to have his limits.”

You put your hands on your hips. “I don’t recall asking you to join me.”

He grinned even as he started scratching his shoulder. “We’re in this one together, sweetheart, whether you like it or not. I’m not about to go through another week of Hell.”

You were about to ask what kind of troubles his week had brought when Principal Johnson came around the corner. 

“There’s the Faerie Queen,” he said as though he hadn’t just seen you in passing outside. He still had his megaphone in his hand, but you were pleased to see Lexi wasn’t trailing him this time. He nodded at Negan and then smiled at you. 

Negan returned the nod and stepped further into your space, nearly touching you.

You shuffled to the side as far as you could without smooshing yourself into the set of lockers on the other side of your door. You still weren’t 100% sure he didn’t have a rash from something, and you had no intentions of finding out the hard way.

Ray looked between the two of you but didn’t say anything, instead reaching into the pocket of his congo pants and fishing out your keys. “Here you go,” he said, handing them to you. “Your patched tire is back on, and the spare is in the trunk.”

Finally, something had gone the way it was supposed to. “Thanks,” you told him.

“You’re welcome.” 

Negan muttered something that you didn’t catch.

Ray ignored him and said, “Try to get the tires rotated pretty soon. Enzo’ll give you a discount.”

“I will,” you said although you weren’t sure when you’d be able to.

You all stood there for a second, and an awkward tension crept up your back.

“Something else you needed?” Negan asked as though he was the one in charge.

Ray rocked back on his heels and tilted his head to the side. “Lexi mentioned you guys are supervising the farm volunteers tomorrow.”

Ugh, he had to remind you. You had emailed Lexi when you first came in to let her know Negan was going to be at the farm. You hadn’t been surprised that she hadn’t bothered to reply. “We are,” you said, trying to stay cheerful.

“Thought I might join you,” your boss said, “maybe bring some coffees. What’s your order?”

The offer made you smile. “I can’t let you do that after all the trouble you’ve put yourself through for me. I should be getting the coffee.”

“How about you bake something for breakfast, and I’ll take care of the caffeine?”

Considering the amount of stress-baking you’d been doing this week, it wouldn’t be a problem. “Sounds great.” You told him your usual order.

“Got it.” Ray winked and then faced Negan. “Lexi says you’re coming, too.”

“I’ll be there,” Negan replied.

“You still take your coffee black like always?”

“Black, like always,” Negan confirmed.

Ray nodded. “You on your way back to the gym?”

“Just as soon as I finish making tonight’s plans with the queen over here,” Negan said.

“Don’t take too long,” Ray said. “Wouldn’t want to leave Smith in the lurch.”

“‘Course not,” Negan said.

Ray looked back at you and raised his brows again, “Well, see you guys in the morning.”

“See you then,” you said, trying to ignore the impending sense of doom that was settling around you.

“What a jerk,” Negan said, once the principal was gone.

“He's not a jerk. He just fixed my car and offered to get us all coffee,” you told him. You were really starting to rack up on the fancy coffees.

Negan gave you an unreadable look. “Twenty bucks says he asks you out tomorrow.”

You laughed. “Trust me, he's not interested. He's just a nice guy.”

He blinked and leaned back, brows knitting together like he was particularly confused.

“What?”

“You really can't tell when a man’s interested, can you?”

You scoffed. “That's ridiculous.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I can definitely tell.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded in that way people do when they’re really humoring you. “So when did you know I wanted you?”

You looked in on your students who were at least pretending to make candy. For once, you were thankful for your obnoxiously loud refrigerator, still screeching and banging like everything was normal. “You know, the other night, on the porch.”

His eyes went wide, and then he blinked slowly, scrubbed a hand down his face, and finally leaned down slightly so that his eyes were boring directly into yours. “Sugar, I been asking you out since the day we met. I about lost track of how many times you’ve shot me down.”

It was your turn to look surprised. Sure, he made passes at you on a regular basis, or sometimes, he might gauge your interest in going somewhere, but he’d never seemed genuinely interested. 

“First day back after summer break,” he said. “You brought cookies to the bullshit morning assembly. I asked to show you around town.”

You remembered that day. He'd fixed your coffee that morning, which had surprised you, considering you'd already been warned he was an asshole. “I couldn't go because I was busy.”

“Already wrapped up in volunteer shit,” he said. 

You nodded. “The library bake sale.”

“What about the other times?” 

“I always thought you were joking.”

“Well I wasn't.” He finally leaned back, and you swallowed. “But that's neither here, nor there, us being just sort of friends and all.”

He sure did like to remind you of that. It was strange to think that Negan might be interested in having something to do with you besides sex. You’d always thought that was all that was on the table. A good time was all he ever offered anyone, right? He was just another playboy, looking for his next score. If he were really interested in something more, you’d know by now, wouldn’t you?

“So,” he said, ignorant of your thoughts, “pick you up at your place, say around five, to go to the mall before we hit the laundromat?”

“Yeah,” you said, still thinking over the times when he’d asked you to ball games or other places, back when he regularly picked up his orders. The number of occasions surprised you. He’d even tried to make plans to go to Shelley’s holiday dinner the other night, but you’d just shrugged it off. “Sure.”

He pulled his shirt up again and scratched at his side before backing away. “It’s a date,” he said, before he turned and headed for the gym.

Except, now that you and Negan had decided to be friends only, it definitely wasn’t a date. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I originally envisioned this fic as a 10k word one shot, and we're edging past 60k with this update. Ah well.
> 
> Thanks for coming along on the adventure with me. Hope you enjoyed this one.


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